


Miles Through The Night

by Hedgi



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Science, Eventual Happy Ending, Gen, I'm very much going directly to hell, Implied Character Death, Kidnapping, Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture, Team as Family, Whump, all aboard the pain train, and worse, but it's lies, canon pairings - Freeform, happy may be overstating it, mostly Snowstorm, nonconsensual drugging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2018-08-22 15:10:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8290418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hedgi/pseuds/Hedgi
Summary: Set between seasons 1 & 2. Heavily AU.With Eobard Thawne dead, life in Central City can go back to normalish. But Barry’s greatest enemy is not a speedster from the future fixated on him, and Eobard’s threat may have been the only thing keeping Team Flash safe from someone who doesn’t consider any meta to be human. Killer Frost and Vibe origins, so much whump.AKA the thing I’ve been talking about on tumblr since Feb ‘15





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> At long last, finally I'm posting! My deepest thanks to Cr1mson5thestranger, who helped plot a great deal of this. Updates should be once a week.

  
  
Detective Joseph West scanned the report on his desk again, hoping that in the two seconds he hadn’t been looking at it, the results would be different. It was a simple evidence report, two blood samples, not something terribly easy to screw up. Still, he’d had one of the CSI techs run it twice, praying it had been wrong. He picked up the paper, and the edges crinkled in his hands, almost ripping because he couldn’t stop himself from shaking.  
  
The samples--one from a warehouse floor, a weeks old stain in the concrete by the time they’d found it, and one from a tattered, bloody shirt--were a match. No amount of hoping, praying, or willing the evidence to say otherwise would change it. Eddie suspected already, had from the minute they’d seen the torn shirt with its bullet-holes, but so many impossible, miraculous things had happened in the last year and a half that they’d hoped. Joe caught his partner’s eye from across the bullpen, the younger man’s grim expression a mirror of his own. 

  
“Are they sure?” Eddie asked as Joe got to his feet, suddenly unsteady.”They’re sure it’s a match, that it’s his?”  
“Yeah. And from the amount on the shirt...from where the entry wound had to be…” he trailed off, and sighed heavily. “We don’t have a body, Eddie, but-.”

“But you think that’s...what we’ll find. If we find anything at all.” Eddie’s shoulders slumped, his eyes dimmer. “I should call Iris.”

“You do that, but  _ careful _ . Make sure she stays put. I know we’re being watched here. Eddie, this is it. It’s been weeks, and this is all we’ve got. This, that damn letter, the email, the ring, and none of it’s going to get us anywhere. I’m going to tell the Captain, and call…” He sighed, his face paling slightly, as if the florescent lights were too strong. “Someone has to tell him. I have to tell him, he shouldn’t hear it from Iris or Clarissa or... They aren’t the ones who....”

“Joe, you said yourself it seemed too--too obvious, too manufactured to be real, and we know, we know that that letter was a fake! You can’t _really_ think they’re … dead.”   
“I _said_ I _hoped_. And I still do, but there isn’t anything we can do here. Not now. Call Iris, I don’t want her coming here to ask about the results. It’s not safe.” Joe dragged a hand over his eyes briefly, then dropped it. 

“I’ll--I’ll file this, and get the the reports from the file room, Joe.” Eddie took the paper, not wanting to read what it said, not wanting to know. He knew anyway. “I’ll meet you in the Captain’s office.”

 

Eddie’s heart wasn’t in the tight, wan smile he gave the uniform behind the evidence desk. “I need the whole file--all of them, actually.” He rattled of file numbers he’d memorized and could have given in his sleep. “The case is...no longer an ongoing investigation. None of them are.” 

The officer gaped at him. “But...Detective,” she protested, unsteadily. “I thought Allen was your friend, that you said there was something fishy--.”

Eddie swallowed. “They are...were... all my friends,” he replied, more tersely than he’d meant to. “And I’m doing the only thing that’s left for me to do as their friend.”

She seemed unconvinced. “You said you were going to look as long as you were still breathing--”

“What does it matter to you how I handle my cases?!” Eddie snapped, the last of his patience wearing away. “This is hard enough without you throwing up a damn roadblock! Just--” He cut himself off to take a deep breath and regain his composure. “It’s not my call to make. Just...give me the files, Cooper. Please. Don’t make this any harder.”  
He tucked the files under his arm, taking the stairs to the captain’s office slowly. He paused at his desk to take the blood sample analysis report and slide it into the proper file, just under the topsheet. 

_ Missing persons report: Francisco Ramon _

__   
  


_ _


	2. Chapter One

  
_One month earlier_

__  
__  
Usually, the trip home from work took Cisco either 15 seconds or 15 minutes, depending on if Barry was giving him a lift, or if he was taking the bus. Not a bad commute, all things considered, even taking the bus. The stop was only a block and a half from his apartment building, and while it wasn’t exactly the safest part of the city, it wasn’t the shadiest either.  
  
But tonight, half the bus and subway system had gone haywire thanks to the latest criminal menace Barry’d had to deal with. Thankfully it hadn’t been a meta, just someone with too much time and creativity on their hands with a not-so-healthy dose of craving revenge. Even with things mostly restored to order, the trains successfully back on track (literally) and all Station Master’s--Cisco was going to need a better name for the guy, honestly, Iris, _why_ \--little tricks thwarted, the bus system was still screwed up. So that fifteen minutes turned into twenty-seven plus a detour to a stop 3 blocks away, and while it wasn’t like Cisco hated walking, it had been a long day.  
Hands jammed into his jacket pockets, he fiddled with the little screwdriver tucked inside one, the handful of paperclips in the other. Link, unlink, link again until there was a hopeless knot of them that would be impossible to undo by touch alone. Focusing on that, and not on how much his feet ached, or how much he desperately needed coffee, he didn’t notice most of the familiar sights as he neared his building. The cracks in the sidewalk, the chalk drawings faded from a day’s worth of feet, the way that one stupid lamppost kept flickering--all of it escaped attention. So did the figures in the alleyway two buildings from his front door.  
  
Whenever something like the days events happened, there were usually two options for reactions--the city erupting with chaos, or people deciding to turn in early for the night and hope that the next day would contain fewer explosions. That was how it seemed on this particular night. Late-night storefronts still hummed with neon, but there were few people out and about, even this early after sunset, even with the buses still running. Cisco glanced up briefly, then looked back at his shoes. _Half a block, three flights of stairs, then relax with netflix,_ he told himself. _Or hot shower. Or both. No, wait, bad plan. Haven’t waterproofed the tablet._  
He felt a hand on his shoulder bag strap and yanked away instinctively--today of all days, he was not in the mood to get pickpocketed or mugged--and slammed into someone else. He  spun hard, jarring his ankle but not caring, half staggering away, but was brought up short by a third figure closing the gap.  
“Look, I’ve got a bus pass, twelve cents, and a couple granola bars,” he said quickly, hand reaching for his phone. “That’s it, really, it’s not worth the--”  
Before he could finish or fish out his phone, the man who’d snagged his bag slammed a heavy fist into his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. Too late Cisco thought through the white flash of pain, should have screamed, gotten attention. Stumbling, he kicked out, struck back with one elbow and felt it connect with a body that may as well have been stone. The man grunted once, and then a hand closed around Cisco’s arm, immobilizing it and dragging him to the side, shoving him hard towards a second silent figure. Still trying to pull in air, wondering why no one was coming to his aid--surely someone would have seen from a window--Cisco dug in his heels. He had to try to make as much of a scene as possible.

This was no grade school play yard fight, he knew, this wasn’t something he could win--but why? Muggers would have grabbed the bag and left. A third man grabbed at his wrist, twisting it behind him even as he writhed to get free, begging every scrap of breath he could manage from his lungs to cry out. He fumbled with the phone, finally dragging it free enough that he could unlock it. The first attacker, the one still gripping his shoulder in a vice, released the hold long enough to pry the phone from desperate fingers. Cisco lunged as best he could, pinned as he was, hoping to break free--run into the street if he had to, even if there didn’t seem to be traffic. For his trouble, a fourth attacker struck him across the head with a forearm like an iron bar. That was all they needed as Cisco lost traction against the ground, too dazed to fight even a losing battle, his vision hazy not only from the flickering light but the blow.

It wasn’t until they’d slammed him into the side of the building two up from his own that he got back his ability to groan, “What do you want?”  
“Get him in the truck,” one of them--Cisco couldn’t see who in the dim alley--barked as the one holding his wrist seized the other arm pulling them together and cinching a set of zipties so tightly they bit into his skin. With the goon mostly holding him up, Cisco tried another kick, but one of them caught his leg and the one cuffing him kicked the other--the bad ankle--out from under him entirely. Cisco went down hard, his cry muffled by a soaked cloth clamped over his mouth and nose. Whatever was on it burned his lungs as he twisted and squirmed until even the flickering street lamp faded away.  
Distantly, he thought he heard the slamming of doors, the rumble of an engine, but he was too far gone.

 

* * *

 

Caitlin hit the snooze function on her alarm and after a few seconds rolled out of bed. She hit the off button a little bit more savagely than normal, but it was another day.  Even without the mess to clean up at STAR Labs and everything else that needed to be done--someone was going to have to make sure Barry’s blood sugar was normal and Cisco and Barry were not as conscientious about that as they should be--she’d have gotten up early. For one thing, it meant beating the rush at Jitters. Barry usually got drinks for everyone, and since he prefered tea, Cisco and Caitlin could be reasonably certain their cups would be full. Asking him to buy pastries, though, that was more risky. And beating the rush meant first dibs on cinnamon scones.  
A hot shower eased the worst of the aches from the previous day’s adventure, and with her usual quick practicality Caitlin slid into her tiny fiat’s front seat. The car had seen better days by far, but despite it all, it still ran, and that was all Caitlin needed, even if Ronnie complained about the lack of legroom. It wasn’t as though he ever rode in the car, anyway, off in hiding with Professor Stein somewhere, only coming in to visit for a stolen hour or two every so often. Though none of them had seen or heard from anyone who might wish Firestorm harm since the mess in February when they’d finally been found, it was still deemed safer. Caitlin hated it, but like Clarissa Stein agreed: loneliness seemed a better fate when it was by choice.  


For all it was early June, the morning was still fairly cool, the barest hints of fog on the edges of the bay. Caitlin hoped fervently that was natural, and not a warning of trouble with Mardon. In the two weeks since Snart had pulled a double cross and freed not one but all of the metahuman prisoners, they hadn’t heard from any of them, but that didn’t stop Caitlin from worrying. Barry had mentioned an alternate timeline with a tidal wave, and that wasn’t something a gadget of Cisco’s or some fancy footwork could just stop. With a slight shiver, she reached out to touch the heater, but stopped herself--the car wasn’t warmed up enough just yet.  
There wasn’t much of a rush at Jitters, just as she’d thought. She picked up a coffee, deciding if Barry got a second she could drink that as well, a cinnamon scone for herself, and a chocolate muffin for Cisco. Barry was on his own for pastries, particularly after yesterday’s “it was only a little bomb I’m fine” stunt. Caitlin settled the coffee first, tossed the pastry bag with the scone already half eaten onto the passenger seat, and buckled herself in. Reaching for the heater again, she froze as her eyes caught the tiniest flicker of movement in the rearview mirror. Cold metal pressed into the back of her neck warningly as the figure that had been concealed by the pile of emergency supplies in the cramped backseat sat up.  
“Drive. Left here.” It was a woman’s voice, harsh and unfamiliar. Caitlin’s hands shook on the steering wheel. Slowly, her eyes caught on the button Cisco had installed on her keyfob, a silent alarm that would go to Barry’s phone. Her breath freezing in her lungs as she steeled herself, she dared a whisper.   
“Can I just turn on the heater?”  
“Take your hands off the wheel, and I will shoot you, Doctor Snow.” The barrel of the gun twitched, sliding down towards her shoulder, but Caitlin knew the angle could still kill her. This woman knew her name, Caitlin realized. All of this had to have been planned, and that meant this wasn’t random. _Of course it’s not random, I’m a super hero’s doctor._ Worse, if this wasn’t a simple--hah, simple-- hostage situation, if she’d been personally targeted, all the advice she’d gotten about what to do in this situation--which was ‘don’t go where they tell you, detour, draw attention’--was useless.  
Caitlin squeaked, and her trembling fingers went white knuckled on the wheel as she tried to hold back the panic threatening to drown her. She didn’t dare even nod understanding, just drove where directed, her mind racing. _I’m early, Cisco and Barry won’t know yet. Oh god, I hope they figure it out. Of course they will, they did last time, with Snart and Rory. Just stay calm. Calm. It’s not one of Snart’s. Who? Eobard’s dead. Who else have we pissed off?_ Maybe one of the non-metas had escaped from jail? Brie Larvin? Though, Brie would have gone after Felicity, right--only Felicity and Oliver were off the grid somewhere. _Think think think_. _Key to getting through this is to know as much as possible. And Stall._  
  
“Who are you?” she asked, turning right where directed, then into a parking garage. There was no teller, just an automated ticket booth, and Caitlin hoped fervently that there were cameras being monitored--but her windows were tinted, and if the woman had directed her here, it had to be planned. Caitlin’s stomach dropped. Of course it had been planned, and that meant they’d have taken precautions, whoever they were.  
The only response to the question was a sharp, “Park there.”  
As soon as she had, the passenger door opened. What remained of her calm shattered like glass, and she could feel her hands and feet go numb the way the always did when she panicked. The man who’d slid into the seat reached for her coffee cup with a gloved hand, and tipped a vial into it. Heart pounding so powerfully that she finally understood the inane statement about being sure others could hear it, Caitlin tried to memorize what he looked like. Not-quite shaven head, pale eyes, average features, nothing useful. A glance again in the mirror revealed much the same about the gunwoman, save that her hair was dark, more brown than red, and her face was rounder, falsely friendly.  
The man held the coffee out to her, and Caitlin shook her head on instinct. Behind her, the woman shifted, the gun still pressed against skin but at a different angle now.  
“You can drink it, or she can shoot you in the arm and I can make you drink it. It’s your choice, Doctor Snow.”  
  
Caitlin swallowed hard, too afraid for words. It probably wasn’t poison then, if they wanted her dead, they’d just shoot her, right? And if it was meant to be something harder to detect--digitalis, maybe--they wouldn’t threaten to shoot her first, that would give away that it was murder. That left some kind of drug to put her under, or dampen her ability to focus and react. Which meant that whoever these people where, they weren’t done with whatever plan they had. One hand shaking, itching to grab the key fob, Caitlin took the cup. Wishing suddenly that she’d added more cream, she drained it, scalding her tongue. Whatever it was that had been in the vial, it worked fast. Even before her fingers released the cup, splashing the dregs on her shoes, she felt her hearing go fuzzy and her eyes couldn’t seem to focus. She didn’t hear the click of a seatbelt release, or feel them tug her from her seat. _Cisco… and... Barry… they’ll come. Always do. Ronnie. Need. ‘ll come. Hurry._

* * *

 

The clock on the nightstand told Barry it was 8:45. Barry was fairly certain it was lying. There was no way he’d actually gotten almost 11 hours of sleep and still felt this groggy and --yep, that was his side, still one massive ache even though the bruise had faded. Caitlin would be glad of that, at least.

“Barr, you up?” Joe’s voice from the hall.

“Mmmuuuuhrrrrmm?” Barry pulled the pillow closer.  
“That’s what I figured. You had a rough day yesterday, I’ll tell Singh you’re under the weather.”  
“Thanks, Joe,” Barry murmured. “I’ll be in by noon. Run by STAR Labs first ‘nd all.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll see you then. Breakfast’s downstairs, better eat that or Caitlin’ll have my head. Can’t have you passing out on us again.”

“Kay.” Barry snuggled deeper into the blankets, not bothering to set an alarm. Just another hour. He’d get up in an hour. Caitlin and Cisco could get their own coffee; they’d call if there was an emergency. His phone remained still and silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all going to get worse from here, muahahah.  
> Comments make the world go round :)


	3. Chapter two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No new warnings. References to what went down last chapter.

When Cisco woke, his head ached and his whole right side felt numb. Until recently he’d never been one to wake confused, unsure of where he was or what had happened, but days of sleep deprivation to avoid nightmares and too many mornings waking up after too long without rest had taken that. Blinking open his eyes was surprisingly difficult--they felt glued shut, but he managed it. It was about then, as he tried to sit up and found that his hands were immobilized behind his back, that he remembered. The mugging that was not a mugging, the wall, the rag. Kidnappers. His heart took off like one of the out of control trains Barry’d stopped, the air in his lungs like lead. His wrists burned as he twisted his hands, trying to remember everything he’d picked up from TV shows, Internet, and the occasional advice from Eddie or Oliver. There was no give at all in the plastic zipcuffs--if anything, they seemed to get tighter. Curse words in three and a half different languages ran through his head as he tried to focus, tried to breathe.

_ Padre nuestro  _ _ que estás en los cielos,  _ he switched from swearing to praying, trying to match his breathing with the familiar pattern of the memorized words. It was an old calming trick as much as a religious gesture. It helped, but not by much.

Getting into a sitting position was harder than he’d have liked, but doable, even with his head pounding and his hands and legs so stiff and aching. It looked like every cliche he’d ever seen: bare concrete floor, plain walls, no windows, single door. He was alone. That ruled out Snart, probably. Lisa would be here if it had been Snart, and he wasn’t the type to leave the dirty work to underlings in any case. Somehow, the thought that it wasn’t Captain Cold did nothing to ease his fear. If it wasn’t the Rogues, then...who? The real question, he guessed, was why? They hadn’t wanted his pocket change, that was for sure, and it hadn’t been something spur of the moment. They’d been waiting. For anyone in particular? Or for him specifically? His head throbbed.  
  
He shifted as best he could so he faced the door, trying to feel for anything useful in his pockets--they’d taken his bag and jacket, and apparently his shoes--but it looked like whoever they were, they’d gotten everything down to his last paperclip. _Barry will notice, Caitlin and Barry will notice, this isn’t like with freaking Glider. It can’t have been that long. Hours? Maybe. Just gotta stay calm, just gotta breathe._ Unfortunately, his lungs seemed to forget how to work. _Ok. Gotta be ready, gotta breathe, gotta think. Not Snart. Maybe it’s...no, not Hartley’s style, and anyway he just hated Wells, mostly. Who else, who else?_ There were still people who hated STAR Labs...even some fanatics. Maybe a group of them had gotten together, like Farooq but without the Zappy superpowers? That would mean Caitlin was in danger too, they were all that was left. But people like that, they wouldn’t have left him, right? They’d want to do their stupid gloaty “science is evil, earth is flat and Edison was a witch” bullshit, right? _Unless they just left you here to die of dehydration_ , the annoyingly pessimistic and increasingly louder part of his brain offered. _Ok, no, Barry, or Joe, or Eddie, someone will find me before that, so you shush_. He didn’t exactly have enemies, so whatever this was, it had to be about STAR Labs, the Flash, or...weapons. Someone else taking a page from Cold’s book? Barry had said, later, that Snart had gotten away from him at the casino by threatening…

“Oh, God, no,” Cisco whispered in a fervent prayer, realizing for the first time that he wasn’t gagged--why bother, the only people who could hear him would probably be his kidnappers. They’d been professionals, after all, and if Nimbus was any example, Crime families didn’t just forgive things like making weapons used to rob them. On the bright side--if there was such a thing--that might mean that he was the only target. He hoped so, at any rate.   
Managing to get to his feet was harder than sitting up had been, and Cisco vowed that as soon as he was out of here, he was going to take up some kind of routine with stretches and yoga, that kind of thing. Just because he was the eyes and ears and not out in the field didn’t mean being able to do situps wasn’t necessary. Though, Cisco admitted to himself, getting to his feet didn’t help his situation much. For few seconds, his head swam, and he thought he might pass out or else vomit, but the moment passed. Steeling himself, Cisco glanced around again, this time checking for cameras. _Stupid, should have pretended you were still asleep!_ he thought, but there was no point in that now.

There were no cameras, either, that he could see, and after hunting down Evilbard’s spytech, Cisco had gotten pretty good at spotting that kind of thing. Creeping forward, wincing as his numb feet and swollen ankle protested, he checked the door. Locked, but then he’d expected that. What was worse was that there wasn’t a keyhole on this side. He knew the basics of lockpicking, and he was sure there was a bobbypin in his hair somewhere if he could just get to it, but that would be useless if the door only unlocked from the outside.

It was as he was examining it that he heard footsteps drawing closer and closer, until they passed him by. Even as they faded, sharp and harsh, the sound rang in his ears and his heartbeat echoed.

* * *

  
  
When Barry woke, it was to Joe’s phone call.   
“Barr, I’m sorry, but we’re short staffed. Evans called in sick and Jones was stranded out of town what with the trains and all. You know how long it takes to get evidence processed, DNA tests and all, by, uh, normal means.”  
Barry did know. What often took months or at least weeks took a lot shorter when he could speed up the process or run whatever sample over to STAR Labs where there wasn’t a backlog. His side still hurt, but he rolled out of bed, shoving the covers back. “On my way. Let me stop at STAR, I’m out of calorie bars.”  
“Thanks, see you in a bit.”  
It was the work of microseconds to dress, run a comb through his hair, and decided making the bed could wait. Then he took off, rocketing down the street faster than was probably wise on so few calories. Caitlin was going to wring his neck if his blood sugar was out of whack again. Still, it felt like he was flying, and he’d never be tired of that.

He burst into the cortex, and was momentarily surprised that it was empty, but shrugged. They’d all had a long day, he was pretty sure he wasn’t the only one who wanted to sleep in. Plus, ever since discovering the Time Vault (even if Eobard had taken the AI) and the creepy bonus prison under the pipeline, Cisco had taken to exploring. The break room was empty as well, but honestly no one ever spent much time in there except to make snacks for movie nights. Barry grabbed the carton of Calorie bars, stuffing three into his pockets and unwrapping a fourth.

“Hey, gotta run to the station, I’ll be by after work,” he called down the hall. “See ya later!”  
The lightning sang in his veins as he took off again, stopping a block from the station itself to check that his shoes weren’t on fire. The last time he’d simply raced into his lab, he’d ended up setting some papers on fire with his smoking shoelaces. That had taught him to check first, and he’d invested in some paperweights.  
Sometimes it didn’t feel as rewarding, working in the lab, next to running through the streets stopping crimes. The first few weeks had been the worst, but now Barry finally felt he had the balance. There were people that the police couldn’t get to in time, people that normal means couldn’t save, people that he could help as the Flash. But there were people that his work as a CSI, analyzing and compiling evidence, helped, too. And some of them, the Flash wasn’t enough to save.

He flipped through the small mountain of files, sorting them into piles of Do Here, Do at STAR.  That done, and his first calorie bar eaten he set in on the first stack. 

“You really need to block the door, set up an alarm, something,” Joe told him. Barry slammed the folder closed.

“Uh..”

“Eddie and I do what we can, but one of these days if you aren’t careful someone’s gonna notice.”  
Barry winced. “Sorry.”  
Joe shook his head. “Yeah, well, you’ve gotten better. How’s everything at STAR? Have you spoken to Iris?”  
“Not since yesterday when I got home. And things are fine, I mean I just stopped to grab some of these.” He held up a bar. “ Something’s different about them, they actually taste decent now. I don’t know if it’s practice, or that I’m just used to it.”

“Could be both. You can get used to anything. Anyway, I came for the Hale case--did you finish that one? Singh put a priority on it.”

“ Yeah, gimme a,” Barry blurred as he rifled through the stack, “second.” He held it out, and Joe took it.  
“Great, thanks. I’ll tell Iris she and Eddie need to come for dinner, invite Cisco and Caitlin if you want.”  
Barry nodded, overeager. “After this week, we need a party. I’ll see you at home.”

* * *

Caitlin could feel her still scorched tongue, her mouth like a desert. Blinking, she lifted her head from where it fell forward to her chest, wincing at her sitting position. A jolt ran through her body, the way one’s body twitches awake from a nightmare of falling, but her head still felt stuffed with sand and cotton, she couldn’t think, couldn’t remember…  
She tried to raise a hand to her head and found that she couldn’t. The movement was halted by a rattle of metal, something around her wrist, and the other. The fog in her brain cleared some, as she struggled, then faded away almost completely, replaced by terror. Everything was dark, and only the fact that she could make out the faintest thin line of light along what had to be a wall reassured her that whatever drug her kidnappers had used--she’d been _kidnapped--_ had not stolen her sight.

In the not-quite-year that Barry had been the Flash, she’d been in Bad situations before. She’d faced her own vulnerability and mortality more times than most people did in a lifetime in a scant 18 months since the particle accelerator had blown. But no matter how many times she’d feared for her own life, or the lives of her friends--her _family_ \--she knew she’d never be used to it. It wasn’t something she thought she could ever be desensitized to. Caitlin had hoped that she’d at least be able to stay more focused, less panicked, that fear wouldn’t take control of her entirely, given enough of these experiences.   
But she was just as terrified now as the night Leonard Snart had dragged her from her car, as the night Blackout had nearly caught her and the others. Experience had not given her more control over the fear, she realized, her breathing coming far too fast--god, she had to slow her breathing or she’d pass out--it had given her more things to fear. This was worse than a known enemy with a known goal, far worse, she decided. _Everything will be fine, they’ll find me. My phone’s got a tracker, if they haven’t ditched it, and Barry--Cisco--Joe--they’ll find me. Easy. Breathe. If they wanted you dead, you’d be dead. You’re not dead, so they need you, so there’s going to be something you can do to get away or signal for help. Panic solves nothing. Be rational._

Again, she tugged at the restraints locked around her wrists, solid metal cuffs secured not only to her but to the back of the solid metal chair. She winced as the metal bit deep, but kept up the struggle. With the last of the drug clearing from her head, she looked around, finally paying attention to her surroundings. It felt like the warehouse Snart and Rory had used, the same old storage vibe, but she also got the sense of closeness, walls, so...she wasn’t sure. It didn’t feel like a closet, but it didn’t feel like an open space, either. No windows, unless one was behind her in her blind spot and blocked.  _ Or unless it’s night, hundreds of miles from anywhere and Barry can’t find--stop that, that won’t help. _ In that faint line of light, she thought she saw the glint something--metal? Polished wood?--in front of her, and kicked experimentally. Her foot knocked against a table of some kind, but she got no further in the tactile exploration when that pencil thin slash of light that marked the bottom of a door vanished. Caitlin stiffened, closing her eyes tightly as the light returned, full bright when the door swung open and someone flipped a switch. Heavy footsteps neared her, and her eyes flew open without order.

  
“Hello, Doctor Snow.” She knew that voice, and she knew the face it belonged to. Fear warred inside her with anger, but also with utter dread. Caitlin took back the previous thought. This was no unknown enemy, and she could guess now the reason she’d been targeted as her captor towered over her, smirking. "Comfortable?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D Remember, Comments make the world a better place. The Pain train has lft the station and it's only gonna get worse from here on out, heh


	4. chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Canon typical violence.

  
Caitlin stiffened as General Eiling looked down at her. Though her body felt frozen, her tongue was not.  
“This is illegal, you can’t just kidnap me at gunpoint, you can’t keep me here,” she snapped, pulling again at her bonds. Even though Eiling only had one man with him, they were both armed, and she was only a scientist. Even if she could get free... _it’s not hopeless, it’s not, oh God, it’s Eiling._ Even if--when--Barry came, what was to say Eiling wouldn’t be ready, with another of those spike grenades or the burning foam missile?  
“You’d be surprised what I can and cannot do, Doctor Snow, particularly given some of the more recently passed acts and bills, so really, let’s not waste time with that nonsense.”  
Caitlin glared. “What do you want?” she asked, hoping she sounded defiant and angry but knowing there was too much fear in her voice.

“That’s more like it. You already know what I want. Ronald Raymond.” Eiling circled her, and she tensed.  
“He’s in hiding,” she spat, suddenly so glad that he didn’t tell her where. Eiling could do what he liked, but she couldn’t give up a location she didn’t know. “He’s been in hiding for weeks, hiding from you.”  
“Yes, but you, Doctor Snow, still wear the ring he gave you.”  
Caitlin’s hands, limp in the cuffs, curled instinctively, and she could feel the band around her left ring finger. She’d stopped wearing it, but then when he came back, when he wasn’t dead or worse--her hand had felt so naked without it. Eiling chuckled.  
“And I’m guessing you have some way of contacting him. We went through your phone, clever, only having numbers and no names for most of your contacts,” he finished the slow loop standing just beside the table, holding her phone in one hand. “We can do this the easy way. You call him. Ask him to meet you at...let’s say that coffee shop, what was it--Jitters, yes? Nice and public. Lots of civilians so he can’t risk blowing everything sky-high.”

“ _No.”_ Caitlin said, shaking her head before he could even finish. “I won’t. Kill me if you’re going to, but I’ll die before I betray him to you.” She lifted her chin, glaring with all the fury and ice she could muster. She’d said similar to the Rogues when they’d wanted to hurt Barry. She meant it then, and now. Eiling met her eyes, the tiniest hint of a smirk on his face.  
He didn’t bother to say anything, just tapped a button on a radio at his belt. Caitlin trembled, pressing her lips together tightly. 

The door opened, and two more soldiers entered with faces like stone, shoving a third figure in front of them, sending him crashing to the floor. His hands were pulled behind him, bound there with too-tight plastic cuffs, and his hair hung in his face. Caitlin knew who it was even before she registered the slightly bloodstained “Browncoats” tee-shirt, and a strangled cry escaped her.  
Cisco’s eyes, when they met hers, were wide and dark with pain and fear, and there was bruising around one, a gash on the side of his head. As soon as he saw her, a cry of his own echoed hers, and he struggled to get to his feet, trying to lunge forward while still on his knees. Heavy hands clamped down on his shoulders, but the struggling continued.  
“Caitlin! Leave her alone, you son of a--” a fist slammed into his jaw.

“Cisco! Stop it, you’re hurting him, stop!” Caitlin shrieked, panic like icewater singing in her veins.  
Eiling held up a hand, then moved out of Caitlin’s sight again, bending down to free one of her wrists. He put the phone in her hand. “Call Mr. Raymond, now, and tell him to meet you at Jitters at five.” Caitlin hesitated, still staring at Cisco, who shook his head at her. “Unless you really don’t care about your friend here.”  
There was the click as one of the goons holding Cisco down pressed a gun to his head. 

“Don’t,” Cisco whispered as Caitlin’s eyes darted between Eiling, the phone, Cisco. “I’m not worth him.” The second creep grabbed a fist full of his hair and yanked.

“Five,” Eiling counted with the air of an annoyed parent teaching a particularly willful child a lesson. “Four. Three.”  
Caitlin snatched the phone from the table. “Alright! Stop! I’ll do it.”

* * *

Ronnie glanced at the burner phone he’d set up for use with Caitlin. The Professor and his wife had opted for leaving ads and the like in several obscure newspapers to communicate, but Ronnie had preferred the idea of a phone. If something went wrong, he wanted to hear about it sooner rather than later, and he missed hearing her voice. He picked up before the first ring had died away.  
  
“Hello?”  
“Hi, Ronald.” Caitlin’s voice was bright, cheery, and instantly Ronnie felt himself on edge, getting to his feet to find Martin Stein. “How are you?”  
“I’m alright,” he said, cautiously. “How are you, is everything--”  
“Everything’s fine. But I miss you. Is...” He voice cracked, and Ronnie saw red. “Is there any way you could...come back? Just for a little while? I need to--to see you, Ronald.”  
Martin Stein stood in the doorway, watching him with a puzzled and worried expression. They couldn’t read each other’s minds while separated, but powerful emotions telegraphed easily. Ronnie met his eyes and nodded. Caitlin never called him by his full name, not ever, so clearly she was in trouble, bad trouble. Worse still, the only time he’d ever known Caitlin to lie this well was...well, never. She was a terrible liar, unless something desperate was happening, unless lives counted on it. And she was lying, he felt that as surely as he felt Martin’s unease.  
“Where? And when?” he asked without hesitation. For her to be lying, for her voice to sound the way it did, he knew this had to be some kind of trap, she’d called him Ronald, their code for _stay away, danger._ But he couldn’t.  
“Jitters, tonight? Five---if you can make it by then, I don’t know if--” it sounded almost as though that last was not aimed at him, but he answered anyway.  
“I’ll be there, Cait. I’m coming.” He paused, wishing he could speak directly to her mind-- _No matter what, I’m coming, I won’t let anyone hurt you. “_ I love you.”  
“Love you, too,” she whispered. “I’ll--I’ll see you. I have to go.”  
“What was that about?” Martin asked, anxious. “Caitlin, is she alright? What about Clarissa, or--”  
“I don’t know,” Ronnie shook his head. “But we’ve got about four hours to get to Central City. Something bad’s happened.”  
“Then I suggest we fly, and quickly.”  


* * *

  
Eiling took the battery from Caitlin’s phone, pocketing both. “There, now. That wasn’t too hard, was it?” He twitched a hand, and the man with the gun lowered the weapon so it aimed at the floor, still too close to Cisco for comfort. Caitlin’s eyes burned, but she didn’t duck her head, refusing to let the tears fall. She couldn’t meet Cisco’s eyes as Eiling cuffed her again, the metal digging against the raw place where she’d been bound before. It wasn’t until Eiling had stalked from the room that the men holding Cisco released him with a hard shove and left themselves, locking the door audibly behind them. In moments, Cisco lurched upright, managing to get to his knees again but no better.  
“Are you ok?” Caitlin asked in a rush, knowing it was a stupid question, he’d had a gun put to his head, he’d been hurt, of course he wasn’t ok. He shook his head slowly.

“You shouldn’t have,” he said, and his was voice too soft, almost alien. “You should have just--”

“I couldn’t just watch them kill you,” Caitlin managed, her stomach revolting at the thought, and she was glad she’d only had a few bites of her pastry, no matter how hungry she felt now. If she’d had anything to vomit, she might have then and there. “I couldn’t just--they were going to--how can you say I should have let them?”

“Ronnie,” Cisco looked down and away, and Caitlin pulled uselessly at the chair. “He’s your fiance, your family, I’m just--”

“You’re family, too.” Caitlin interrupted him. “And don’t you dare think otherwise. We don’t have time for that, we’ve got to get out.”  
Cisco nodded, scooting closer until he had the table between him and the door. Up close, his injuries looked even worse. “I don’t think they got all my clips,” he said, softly, in case there were any bugs. “But I can’t reach. If you can get one, maybe…”  
Caitlin thought of the multitool hair clips she, Barry, and Dr. Wells, before he’d revealed his true colors, had gotten Cisco for Christmas, and nodded.

 

* * *

 

“Ronald.”  
“It’s Ronnie, professor.” Ronnie was usually a bit more patient, but now was not one of those days.  
“Ronnie,” Stein said, and the younger man stopped, surprised. The professor had never given in that easily before. “We need to be careful about this. If Caitlin is in danger--”  
“She is. I know she is.”  
“--and she hasn’t been saved by... other means, then reason suggests that STAR Labs and our compatriots may also be compromised.” Martin Stein sighed loudly. “Which may mean that this is all a tr--”

“Of course it’s a trap,” Ronnie burst out, glad they’d landed and separated in a secluded area outside of the city. “I. Don’t. Care.”  
The professor removed his glasses, rubbing them on his shirt absently. “I know. But we cannot go in blindly and simply hoping for the best. I realize that plan may have worked before, but we owe her a real rescue, not a--what’s the phrase? ‘Half assed attempt’?”

Ronnie nodded. “Call STAR, from a safe place. Tell them what’s going on if you can get hold of anyone, if not,” he swallowed hard, a pained look in his eyes. “If not,  assume the worst. I’ll go meet Cait. If it’s a trap, the last thing we want is them getting both of us.”

Martin Stein nodded, grim faced. “I’d rather not get Clarissa involved in this if she hasn’t been already. I’ll go for the city library first, if I’m spotted, well, some of my coworkers and I have--had-- a storage space on 15th. I don’t think they’ll have changed the codes.”  
Ronnie nodded. “ Stay safe, professor.”  
“And you, Ronald.”  
Ronnie didn’t bother correcting him. It was getting to close to Cait’s deadline as it was.  


* * *

Jitters wasn’t as full as the last time Ronnie’d been inside, date night with Cait, asking her to skip town with him. She’d refused, and he knew why, now. Still--if they’d both run off, would she be safe? He scanned the room, searching for threats, searching for her.   
There wasn’t any aura of evil, but something felt off, for certain. Ronnie glanced at the clock on the wall, and frowned he was early, but Caitlin would have been as well, she was always early. There were a few empty tables, so he chose the one nearest the door, one here there wouldn’t be much traffic if he had to grab Caitlin and run.

A waitress--barista?--stopped by to ask what he wanted; he ordered a black coffee, which he mostly drank to annoy Stein. He was waiting for it and for Caitlin, glancing down at the burner phone. Someone sat down across from him.

“I’m waiting for someone,” he snapped before looking up. His gut roiled, then, and he wished he’d merged with Stein so he could barbeque this man’s face. He’d hoped never to see General Eiling again, after that February night.

“Mr. Raymond, Professor Stein. We have something to discuss. You have something of mine.” General Eiling smiled a predator’s smile. He set something small down on the table.  
Ronnie’s heart pounded in his chest, hard and fast, and he swallowed. Something of the General’s? Unless Eiling meant himself--themselves, him and Stein...but that probably was what he meant.  
“I--” Ronnie hesitated, itching to blast the man but lacking the ability to do so. His breath caught when he saw what lay on the tabletop, a slim silver band with a diamond. He knew the ring. It had belonged to his grandmother. Fury pulsed through him like flame. “I could say the same thing. Where’s Cait?”

“She’s alive and safe, for now,” Eiling said, shrugging faintly. “Whether or not she remains that way is up to the two of you.”  
Ronnie clenched his jaw so hard he felt-- _heard--_ his teeth grinding together. “Let. Her. Go.”  
Eiling glanced around, but his eyes were light, as if he was merely interested. “Don’t make a scene. It won’t end well for you or for any of these people. You’re in no position to make threats. There’s something I want, and I will have it.”

“What?” Ronnie knew already, and he concentrated hard, wishing he could communicate to Stein, warn him, but knowing he couldn’t.

“Don’t play dumb. There’s a van waiting. For the girl’s sake, I suggest you come quietly, but...it really doesn’t make a difference to me, you understand. There will be consequences, but it won’t be me paying for any tricks the two of you have.”  
Ronnie tore his eyes from Caitlin’s ring and nodded slowly.

“Wise choice. After you.” Eiling rose slowly, his smile harsh and smug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D  
> remember to share your thoughts. Capslock is welcome here.


	5. chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: depictions of violence and torture, implications relating to suicide (no actual suicide)

“I got it,” Caitlin said softly, finally managing to get one of Cisco’s small clips undone. It dropped to the floor with a soft  _ click.  _ Cisco knelt closer to the ground, trying to find it blindly.when he had, he pressed it back into Caitlin’s hand. 

She felt blindly, her hands still chained behind her, trying to use the small saw edge to cut through the plastic zipcuffs binding her friend without cutting him.

“Caitlin, don’t worry about being careful, just cut. There’s not much time.” Cisco craned his neck, trying to watch the door. It was several long seconds before the plastic gave way. Cisco winced as circulation started up again, faint pins and needles intensifying. He hurried to examine the cuffs holding Caitlin, retrieving a bobby-pin from his hair.

“You should go,” Caitlin started as the thin metal scraped the lock. “Leave me and get--”  
“That’s not happening. You’re family, I’m not leaving you.” Cisco’s voice was as steady as his hands, though his legs shook. “And...There.” he grinned as he popped the cuffs open. He helped her to her feet, and Cisco checked the door. Also locked, but not a high tech key-card deal. He slipped the now sadly mangled pin into the key-hole and started his work again.

“Caitlin, see if you can bring the chair, some kind of weapon…” he hissed.  
“Got it,” Caitlin whispered back, lifting the chair experimentally--it wasn’t too heavy, but it still felt too bulky to be a real weapon. When they got out of this, she was going to start going to the gym, maybe start training with Barry.  
Cisco started as the door gave a small _snick_ and something gave way. Carefully, he listened, straining for any sign that there were guards posted. Nothing. He waved Caitlin over, and she abandoned the chair, shaking her head.   
_Too heavy, not worth it,_  her eyes communicated.   
_No match against guns anyway,_ Cisco’s sharp nod conceded. He passed her the other clip from his hair,wishing he had an elastic to keep it out of his face, but knowing that having even as small a weapon as a hairclip that doubled as a tiny saw and a screwdriver might be useful.

_ Ready to run?  _ Caitlin held up a fist, then five fingers, counting down

_Together,_ Cisco tilted his head left, the opposite direction his cell had been.   
With the last finger down, Cisco shouldered open the door and they ran, bare feet slapping the concrete floor, eyes peeled for anything that might be an escape, a door, a window to the outside, anything. 

Someone shouted an alarm as they reached the first corner, and they skidded as they turned. They might have failed gym, but running from people who probably wanted to literally kill you was a bit different than dodging a ball--adrenaline replaced fatigue and they practically flew.   
Someone shot at them, and if Cisco had had the energy he might have made a stormtroopers joke, because the shot missed, as did the next several. The two ducked, clinging to each other and running for all the were worth.

Caitlin spotted a door that looked to be an actual door to another hallway, not a storage-closet-turned-prison, but it was locked. Rather than waste time, they left it, trying another door and another.

Footsteps pounded after them, heavy, but no more shots were fired--either because they’d gotten orders to keep them alive, or didn’t want to risk ricocheting bullets. At last a door opened under Caitlin’s hand just as someone--she dared not look--grabbed at her arm. She swung backward, hammering her captor in the face and bolted like a startled deer, Cisco just ahead of her.

It was as she had thought, a warehouse type building, with back hallways and storage spaces--probably offices. The room the two captives torn into now was huge--and not empty. A line of soldiers, men and women in uniform, blocked the doors, impassive. The fading afternoon sun hardly made it through the high up, grimy windows, and the ceiling lights hummed as Caitlin pressed against Cisco, the two of them looking for any opening.

There was none. They tried to break for one of the huge trucks--they didn’t need to know how to drive it so much as get in and hit the gas-- but Caitlin felt the thudding of boots in her bones as one of their captors grabbed her from behind, one arm around her waist, the other hand knotting in her hair. Someone else grabbed Cisco, tossing him easily to the ground like a sack of grain and pinning him there.

“ _ Let us go,”  _ Caitlin shrieked more out of instinct than the hope that Eiling’s goons would actually do so. The only reply was a harsh laugh.

“Seems we underestimated you. Don’t worry, girly, we won’t a--” he was cut off with a howl of pain, Caitlin sinking the tip of the hairclip into his wrist. He swore, but his grip didn’t loosen enough for her to pull away, and the man keeping Cisco on the ground with a boot over his throat adjusted his position. Cisco let out a choking garble, and Caitlin stopped her fighting, limp. The adrenaline rush left her heart pounding, her hands and feet numb, but what chance they’d had was gone.

“Get them back in their box,” a bored female voice ordered sharply. “And this time, check them for tools properly. Honestly, hairclips?”

Cisco spat as he was hauled upright, a set of metal cuffs locking around his wrists, the manacles tight against the raw place where the zipcuffs had been.

The man holding Caitlin’s left arm released his hold, and she noticed the heavy looking baton in his hand a second before something solid crashed into the side of her head. 

* * *

 

 

When Caitlin woke again, it felt like hours later. Her head throbbed with a headache, and she couldn’t tell if it were more from dehydration or the blow she’d taken. Both, probably, but she still felt slow and sluggish. Still, she could feel her pulse in the side of her head, a promise that she was alive enough to feel pain. There was a chill in the air, and the cement under her bare feet was cold. She jerked to wakefulness, terror gripping at her. Both hands were locked again behind her, to the same chair, and when she moved, she felt the dig of metal at her ankles.   
“Caitlin?” Cisco croaked. When her eyes met his--her eye, she realized, the other was swollen-- he winced. He looked nearly as bad as she felt, half curled on the floor. His ankles had been hobbled like hers, as well as his wrists, and more blood stained his shirt from a cut lip. One eye mirrored hers, already darkening with a bruise.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have--”

“It’s not your fault. It wasn’t a great plan.” He winced, sitting a little more upright.

“It feels late. Ronnie…” Caitlin cut herself off. “Ba--The Flash will look, so will J-The police. They’ll find us.”

“I hope it’s soon,” Cisco murmured. His stomach growled, cramping painfully. Caitlin’s mimicked the call and she winced. “Once he’s got Ronnie…”

“We’ve gotten through worse,” Caitlin tried to put bravery she wasn’t sure she felt into her voice. 

Cisco nodded, and looked about to say something when the door swung open, a handful of armed guards entering.  One at a time, Cisco and Caitlin were “escorted” down the hall, the opposite direction of the failed escape attempt, to a windowless bathroom and back before returning them to the holding cell and locking the door. Most of the guards had left--Caitlin shuddered to think of why, but knowing it probably had to do with Ronnie. 

Two of them had brought two water bottles and half a packet of crackers into the room, freeing Cisco’s hands first to let him have his share, careful firearms pointed at Caitlin and the door both locked and blocked. Cisco’d wanted to snark at the uniformed man, but didn’t dare, not yet. Finally able to stand, he tried to give Caitlin’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.Three stale fake-cheese crackers later, the cuffs were replaced, his hands bound in front of him this time, and one of Caitlin’s cuffs was undone. Both knew they’d need whatever food they could get, and hunger was at full force even as terrified as they were. Caitlin thought mournfully of the pastries left in her car and swallowed, wondering if she would be able to save the water bottle. She was so thirsty she could have easily drained the bottle, but forced herself not to chug it. There was no certainty they’d get more. 

One of them took the half drained bottle she’d put down, giving it a little shake before tossing it back at her. She didn’t wait to be told twice, finishing the rest.

“Don’t waste it. If it were up to me, you’d be getting nothing.”

“What did we ever do to you?” Caitlin demanded. “This is illegal, you have to know that.” She saw the edge of a fading burn on his hand, crawling up his arm, at least a few months old.  He might have been one of those who’d attacked Barry and Ronnie while they’d rescued Stein. Savagely, Caitlin hoped it had hurt him, badly. This wasn’t what soldiers were supposed to do--this wasn’t protecting, wasn’t fighting for freedom or to help. Kidnapping people, whatever Eiling’s team had been done to Bette, had been planning to do to Stein, to Ronnie, to Barry--sometimes she worried and wondered about those caught in the crossfire of Barry and whoever he was fighting, but she had not lost sleep over what might have happened to monsters like that. She wondered now if she should have. The soldier--she wasn’t sure what his rank was, but then, her memorization had always been more focused on classifications of plants and atomic numbers, not how people sorted themselves--only stared her down, silent and coldly-furious. The door was shoved open, and the guard stepped aside for General Eiling.

The general strode in, hands folded behind his back, as if he owned the place. Which, Cisco figured, he probably did.

“What did you do to Ronnie?” Caitlin demanded, and Cisco knew that tone, that was Caitlin furious, Caitlin desperate, fear and sense tossed aside. 

“Nothing I’ll regret.” He stood in front of the table, making Cisco feel small for all he was standing. Eiling towered over them. Caitlin drew breath, and Cisco knew he had to act. He couldn’t let her draw the anger and attention onto herself, not with these people. Not when they might have already gotten everything they needed out of her.

“Hey, General Fuss’n’feathers,” he snapped, “how stupid are you to think you’ll get away with any of this? I mean, all brawn no brains, we’ve seen that before, but even Woodward was smarter than you, and I’m pretty sure his brain was made of scrap metal.” Someone drove a fist into Cisco’s gut and he bent double, narrowly avoiding smacking his head on the table. He coughed, hard, but kept on. “You have no jurisdiction to do this, you can’t just keep us here. Even if Firestorm wouldn’t inevitably turn you into a roast chicken--Mason Bridge was on to you, the media will connect the dots when we go missing. People will notice, they’ll look. You won’t get away with any--” 

A second blow cut him off, though it was not aimed at him, this one an open handed smack that would have knocked Caitlin out of her chair if not for the cuffs.She let out a short cry, clamping her mouth shut again stubbornly. Cisco’s eyes burned, anger replacing worry in him nearly as much as it had for Caitlin. 

“I wouldn’t worry about that, if I were you,” Eiling smirked. “As long as I have you, Firestorm won’t risk defying me, not again. And as for the rest, well. I can assure you that no one will find you, no one I don’t want to.”

“We have friends--” Caitlin started, her voice low.  
“You’re two disgraced scientists from a defunct laboratory.  And no one looks for the dead, as I'm sure you well know, Doctor Snow." Eiling laid a pad of paper and a pen on the table as one of his guards carefully unshackled her hands, leaving her feet cuffed. She looked at it, not comprehending what it was he wanted--the paper was blank--no, worse, it was her own stationery, from her desk drawer. “Now, why don’t we make certain no one comes looking, hmm? You’re so sorry, but with the loss of your fiance and father in the same year, and then the man who supported you dying in yet another _freak_ accident at your workplace, you simply can’t continue…”

Caitlin felt the breath in her lungs freeze solid with fear as understanding set in. Wordless, she shook her head. If they were going to kill her,-- _oh god they’re going to kill me, they’re going to kill us,_ \-- they’d have to take responsibility for it, dammit. Her mind raced, white with panic. It would never work. Barry, Joe, Iris, Clarissa, Eddie, even Oliver and the rest of team Arrow knew that Ronnie hadn’t died in the explosion, that he was alive. They’d know it had to be a trick, a lie... _But that won’t help them save you if you’re already--_ a shiver ran down her spine. Eiling couldn’t kill her, not yet, not if he needed her to use against Ronnie. 

“Doctor Snow, _ write it _ . Don’t make me tell you again.” Eiling gestured to one of his men, and he grabbed Cisco, unsheathing a knife from a hip holster with the other hand. Caitlin’s hands shook as she jerked the paper toward her. 

“Alright, just don’t. Please.” The word burned her throat. Even as she wrote, she recognized the pen--from the glove compartment, fat-tipped with dark ink, not a standard, scratching bic-pen. When she paused, a drip of ink blotted the page. There would be no way to prove she hadn’t written this, not her handwriting, her paper, her pen, but--there had to be something. She couldn’t look up to meet Cisco’s eyes, but she knew he was staring at her, that Eiling was watching. She finished, her own name hardly legible, and dropped the pen as if it had suddenly turned white-hot. General Eiling reached down, taking the suicide note in a gloved hand. Caitlin’s breath caught in her lungs, turned sticky with fear. 

“You must think I’m dumber than a sack of hammers, to fall for something this sloppy,” Eiling growled, slamming the pad of paper down again like a clap of thunder. Caitlin flinched backward, her heart kicking into overdrive. “What kind of idiot do you think I am, that I wouldn’t recognize Morse Code?”

Caitlin kept her gaze on the table, the pad of paper with all the scattered inkblots she’d hoped might have gone unnoticed. A harsh grunt made her look up in time to see the second guard lash out, kicking Cisco’s legs from under him. The only thing that kept him upright was the bruising grip of his captor, yanking his arms back painfully.

“Stop it!” Caitlin shrieked, her voice painfully shrill in her ears. Eiling shook his head.

“Perhaps this will teach you to do as you’re told, Doctor Snow.” 

Cisco’s face shone with sweat as he squeezed his eyes shut, another blow catching his jaw. Caitlin heard the faintest whimper of pain, tears stinging her eyes, too hot on her cheeks. The healing split lip opened afresh; the man holding Cisco up let him drop to the cement floor with a crash. A booted foot slammed into his ribs.

“Stop it, you’re killing him, stop!” Caitlin shrieked a second time. They did not stop, simply ignored her as Cisco tried to curl to protect himself. The one with his knife out spun it almost lazily, crouching. Eiling held up a hand. 

“Enough. Dr. Snow, try again. And this time, no tricks, or I won’t stop them.”

Caitlin’s hand trembled as she wrote, the inkspots random this time. The ink might as well have been blood, but for the color. This time, when Eiling read over the finished product, he nodded, and the guard behind her bent, uncuffing her ankles.  Twin iron grips held her elbows, hauling her to her feet. She struggled uselessly as they half-dragged her to the door.  
“Wait, no, let go of me!” 

“Where are you taking her?” Cisco managed from his crumpled heap on the ground.

They didn’t bother to answer, just pulled her down the hall. The door to the holding cell slammed behind them, cutting off any further cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hell of a week. to my American readers: I am with you. If you are scared, if you are hurting, if you are still numb, my tumblr box is always open. Be safe. and look after your neighbors, particularly those who are now in danger, physical or mental. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter. feel free to leave a comment. As some may be aware, this was plotted out pre End of season 1, and this chapter was written some time ago, hence the reference to Caitlin's father having died in the last year. Just go with it.


	6. Chapter five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Canon typical violence, threats.

 

Something was definitely wrong. Barry'd had most of the day at work, and not once had a call for the Flash come in, not even a text from Cisco. Even if there hadn't been anything for the Flash to do, no contact was unheard-of-strange, but the worst thing was that that wasn't the case. Barry'd seen a fire truck roar past his window, a few storeys below, and chased after it, luckily arriving to the house fire in time to save the occupants (a family of six, plus three turtles). By that time it was edging into late afternoon, and the fog of sleep and exhaustion from the day before had worn off fully. Rather than return to work right away-he needed to check some of the samples using STAR equipment anyway, and it was long past time for even a belated lunch. He made his way to the Lab.

The trip took under a minute-under half a minute, really, and when Barry skidded to a halt in the parking lot, he frowned. He noticed the two STAR Labs vans, moved from the garage ages ago, but there was no sign of Caitlin's dinky little fiat. Once inside, the scuffed up part of the wall where Cisco usually leaned his bike was conspicuously empty, as was the cortex. Barry set the samples up, then tore through the labs, going just slow enough that he wouldn't miss anything. He checked all several dozen cells in the pipeline, the subbasement, the time vault, the empty offices, break room, even the tiny pseudo-morgue. Empty. All of it was empty. Maybe they'd taken the day off, like he'd planned on? Maybe Caitlin was visiting Ronnie up north, she'd mentioned missing him… but he wouldn't have forgotten if she'd made plans. He was pretty sure, anyway.

A last look around the cortex solidified the feeling. This wasn't a joke or a game, something was wrong. What if Cisco had been more badly hurt than they'd thought, after yesterday, what if Caitlin had been? He left the samples on the desk, any thoughts about actual police work gone. He called her phone, then Cisco's, twice each. Both went right to voicemail, Caitlin's practical "You've reached the phone of Caitlin Snow" and Cisco's "Traveling through time and space, leave a message and I'll call you tomorrow or yesterday." Barry left hurried messages on both, knowing he was speed talking and not caring. Cisco'd rigged a way to slow the messages down; Caitlin would just call back. Just to be certain, he texted, then started pacing.

No, he didn't want to wait, what if something really bad had happened? He'd stop by their apartments, if they were there, good, if not-he'd have to call Joe. He wasn't going to let this be like the last times, when he'd only learned they were in danger from Snart and Rory too late to do anything except what the Rogues wanted. What good was superspeed if he couldn't help people faster? What good was being a hero if he couldn't help his friends?

Caitlin's apartment door was locked, but it wasn't hard to phase through the door, after knocking three times and calling through to let her know, just in case. He checked the tiny kitchen first-empty, not even a dish in the sink. He knew when Caitlin was sick, she far preferred to crawl out onto the couch, near to the TV so she could watch bad daytime television and soaps, but the sitting area was empty as well, the lap blanket neatly folded. Her bedroom was just as bare. The bed was made, her shoes missing from the little rack beside the closet, her favorite coat not on the peg by the door. Barry felt something clench in his stomach, the acids roiling and churning. Her car wasn't in her parking spot, either, just an empty stall with her apartment number and a few faded oil drips. She had left, then, but going where? It could have been nothing- a day trip to see Ronnie or possibly (unlikely) her mother, but somehow, that didn't sit right with Barry.

Cisco's apartment was just as empty, his bike secured in the building garage, since it was a walkup. For a moment, Barry thought that was good- maybe Cisco had stayed up late binge watching on Netflix, and was still asleep. But no one answered the door, and when Barry phased through the wall, rattling the shelf of knick knacks, Cisco didn't shout at him. No new dishes on the table, no sign of anyone home, no music playing…

"Cisco? Cisco, are you here?" Barry opened the bedroom door. Again, nothing. No signs of struggling, either, the bed-the bed looked like it hadn't been slept in, the chargers for his laptop and phone were empty.

Barry checked the laundry basket. An unmade bed or dishes in the sink wouldn't tell him if Cisco had been here, but the hamper... Cisco never, ever wore the same t-shirt two days in a row if he could avoid it, he had dozens and "couldn't play favorites."

The Firefly shirt from the day before wasn't in the basket, or on the ground. A scan of the laundry room in the basement showed that it wasn't there, either, though Barry hadn't expected it to be, with the basket half full.

The implication hit hard and fast, and Barry caught himself on one of the dyers, empty and cold.  
Cisco hadn't made it home the night before.

* * *

Ronnie allowed himself to be manhandled out of the van, and braced, looking around for any clues to where he might be. The space was a large, empty warehouse type-possibly a hangar for aircraft, the ceilings were high enough. He'd spent a lot of time poking around buildings like this one, with Martin, looking for places to hide out if things ever got bad, or where they could safely practice their powers. Wherever this building was, he didn't recognize it. It might have been in Central or Keystone, but realistically...his sense of direction and timing had been flawed ever since the Professor had taken up residence in his head, and even when it was just him (and so lonely) he still had a hard time with estimations.

But Eiling had taken his watch and shoes, which was about the extent of his personal affects, and he might as well have been unconscious for all the clues he had about where he was.

Eiling himself was nowhere in sight, which did nothing to settle Ronnie's racing heartbeat. He wanted to wipe the sweat from his palms and forehead, and the cruel, calculating looks from his captors' faces, but he's been cuffed as soon as they'd gotten him into the van. Not that he would have fought back, as much as he itched to. Not while they had Caitlin, not while they had _his_ Cait as a hostage.

"I want to see Caitlin," he demanded, looking at the guy with a fancier uniform, the one holding his upper arm in a solid grip. "Where is she?"

"In time. I think it's time the two of you separated. Can't have you trying any little tricks, Raymond, Professor." The man dipped his head in a condescending nod, a mockery of greeting. "Now, if you please, or we'll have to resort to...other methods."

More than ever, Ronnie was glad Martin was safe, he could feel that in his bones. Martin was safe, and hidden. "We want to see Dr. Snow," he bluffed, trying to use Martin's inflections. He'd gotten good at the mimicry over the last few weeks, never to the point of fooling Clarissa, but others, like Barry, once.

"Separate first. What, you think we'll just take you to her so you can set the place on fire and escape? That's not going to work this time. Don't make me ask again."

Ronnie swallowed, anger pulsing like a wavering flame in his veins. He was so close, if only he was merged with Martin, he could set these bastards on fire right here and now and save her, find her-but he was just Ronnie, useless alone.

"Tick tock," The man-Ronnie couldn't make out the name embroidered on his shoulder from this angle-actually pretended to look at a watch he wasn't wearing as he spoke. "This will go easier for all of you if you behave."

"I-" Ronnie looked around, desperately searching for a way out, hoping some kind of plan would occur to him. "Let her go, I- we don't need to see her, just conformation she's been released."

"No. Don't presume you're the ones holding the cards here. I'm going to make this very simple. You two separate and behave, otherwise, I'll make a call to my boss that I'm sure you and the _lovely_ Doctor Snow will regret deeply." The man smirked. "Ten. Nine. Eig-"

"I can't," Ronnie burst out, startling his captor. " I can't. The professor's not here, it's just me."

"What?" the man snarled, very much like an unpredictable animal. "Where is he?"

Ronnie took a deep breath, trying to calm his erratic heartbeat and failing. "Let Caitlin Snow go, or you'll never find him." He had no intention of giving up Martin, the poor man had suffered enough at Eiling's hands, but he had to get Caitlin out of the mess first.

It wasn't that he wasn't expecting the pain, just not the force of it. The man holding him released his arm to draw back a fist, and the sudden lack of stability made Ronnie stagger, unable to catch himself. The man on his other side nearly pulled his arm out of joint, hauling him to his feet.

"Where is the professor, Raymond?"

"Go to hell," Ronnie spat back. "I'm not telling you anything until you let Caitlin go."

"Oh, you'll tell us, alright." General Eiling entered through what seemed to be the main door, two men just behind him, half dragging Caitlin between them.  
"Caitlin!"  
She was pale and bruised, and as Ronnie met her eyes, he tried to communicate some message of comfort to her, even if he wasn't sure he felt it himself. Up a creek without a paddle, as Martin Stein might say, if they didn't-if _he-_ -didn't think of something quickly, they were all in big trouble. He could see the tears forming, one eye swollen half shut. She refused to let them fall, looking steadily at him with fear and something else, familiar, in her eyes. The same thing he had seen when she had told him she understood why he and Martin had to leave, when he had told her he had to go with the Flash to rescue Professor Stein the first time, when he had not taken the time to kiss her before racing down into the pipeline. Acceptance, and sorrow at that acceptance, a wanting to refuse it. He wondered if it was the expression he had worn, those last seconds of awareness with his hands around the radio and his back to the wall before flame had engulfed him. Somehow, he doubted he had been so stoic.

"Mr. Raymond, I believe you have information for us," Eiling said, and Ronnie mirrored Caitlin's flinch as one of her captors produced a gun.

"Don't tell them," Caitlin whispered, mouthed more than anything, but Ronnie could read it on her lips, in the set of her chin, the blur of her eyes. He shook his head. He and Martin had been willing to die for Caitlin and Clarissa before. The sentiment had never changed.

"Promise you won't hurt her, if I tell you," he said at last, and he could almost feel the second heartbeat racing alongside his own.

"As long as you cooperate, she lives," Eiling countered, a slow smile crossing his face. "More than fair, really. Alive and in one piece is the best deal you'll get, Firestorm."

Before Caitlin could speak, Ronnie nodded, both ashamed at the weakness of betrayal and too concerned for Caitlin to care. Any price was worth her life. "City library. The North branch of the Central City Library. If he's not there, or he got spooked, there's a storage space on 15th, two blocks down. His name may still be on the lease, maybe not, but that's where he'll be." Ronnie swallowed hard, could feel burning behind his eyes and in the way his palms itched as he stared at the general. "Now let her go."

Eiling bowed his head in a mockery of respect. "Your information has been most helpful. Hope that it remains that way."  
Ronnie bit off a cry as someone behind him bundled a dark cloth over his head, a heavy sack.

"Get them out of here," Eiling said. "Put them in the van, and someone collect the professor. Now."

"Ronnie!" Caitlin cried out, her voice muffled. Ronnie surged towards it, twisting in the soldiers' grip, only to be yanked back toward the same transport van he'd been brought in, slamming into the bumper and being hauled off his feet. He hit the back wall, scrambling blindly to his knees, as something crashed into him. Caitlin. As best he could in the cramped space, he heaved himself upright, fingers searching until they met Caitlin's small, cool hands, and squeezed them gently.

"I'm here," he said, leaning back enough that his shoulder brushed hers. She leant into it, and he could feel her trembling. "I've got you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the Pain Train picks up speed and new passengers. Feel free to comment, comments make the world go round.


	7. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! Good to see you all again!
> 
> Chapter warnings: Kidnapping, brief mention of human trafficking and the implications therin (very brief),

In the clean, warmly lit stacks of the Central City library, Martin felt his heart lurch. Hardly the scientific term, of course, but all the same accurate. Something had gone horribly wrong. No one had answered his call to STAR Laboratory, which while not out of the question boded ill.

There were two things Martin Stein had not dared in the weeks past: calling his wife, for fear enemies might use such contact against them, and speaking to the authorities. He was, after all, legally a missing-presumed-dead person, a case gone cold months before. Coming out of that hiding might have brought a few peace of mind, but was hardly worth the risk. It was hard on him, and on Ronald, the hiding. On their loved ones as well, Clarissa, Caitlin, Ronald’s parents. But it was better than the alternative that still sometimes haunted his dreams. The scar across his arm had only faded slightly, angry and red into thin white lines.

But now, Martin had to wonder if all that hiding had done any good at all. He could feel his heart racing, and his hands felt sweat-damp. Carefully, he stood and slid the book he’d been trying--pretending--to read back on the shelf. Gathering his things, he made to leave. The storage unit would be a safe enough place until he could find a way to contact Detective West. He wished he had done as Ronald had, bought a burner phone. 

“Sir?” a voice behind him called sharply. That it was young and female didn’t do anything to calm the professor’s growing internal panic. “Excuse me, Sir?”  
He quickened his pace, skirting around a loose gaggle of children with summer reading charts and stacks of paperbacks. No one chased him, and he slowed. Running, he well knew, would only attract attention, and he was not a young man. From a pocket, he pulled out a floppy hat, a little small in the brim, and his spare glasses, thicker in the frames. It was not much as disguises went, but it was all he had.

There was a postbox around the corner from the library. With a hand that trembled, Martin pulled an envelope out of his coat’s inner pocket. It was several months old, wrinkled from being carried around. Quickly, he dumped it, then started for the storage facility. It was not a long walk, and he made it quickly enough, going roundabout in hopes that he was not being followed. 

He punched in the code, reaching for the handle of the door, and frowned. The latch had not engaged properly. While Dr. Andresen was particularly absentminded, as were some of the others that used the space, forgetting something of this magnitude was unlike her. Martin tensed, something screaming in his head to escape, to take to the skies. It might almost have been Ronald’s voice, or perhaps his own thoughts, but there was nowhere to turn. He could not fly without the other half of Firestorm, and as the door swung open under his hand, he saw the fatigue-uniformed trio waiting for him, weapons drawn.  
He did not see the one who came up behind him, though he felt the sickening crack that sent him to his knees, and then the ground.

 

* * *

 

Barry ran. As the sky grew golden, the sun starting to set, Barry ran, searching the streets. Every alley on Cisco’s walk home, every narrow cross-street, every bus stop or blind corner he paused at, just long enough to truly search for some sign of--well, of anything.  _ Not bodies. They’re alive, they have to be alive.  _ He swept through the streets, doing his best not to leave shattered glass in his wake, something that only happened infrequently now, when he ran faster than he was used too. As deeply as he wanted to race, like he had through the pipeline, faster than ever before, that wouldn’t help him find anything. So he forced himself to a slower pace, relatively, his hummingbird heart echoing with his own pulse in his ears, almost a voice, a command,  _ find them, find them findthem findthem findthemfindthemfind--. _

He skidded to a halt, lighting crackling and dying around him, charring the pavement slightly as he stopped. He had to call Joe, now, so much time had already been wasted and there wasn’t any time  _ to _ waste. His hands shook--he really needed another calorie bar--as he pulled out his phone, jabbing the speed dial for Joe after a last, desperate check. No new texts, no missed calls, no unheard messages. 

“Barry?” Joe asked as he answered. Barry knew why he was confused, often now that he’d gotten faster, Barry would simply race over t o share news. If it was Barry calling Joe, something was usually wrong. “What is it?”

“They’re gone! Joe, they’re gone!”

“Who’s gone? Barry, slow down, I can’t hear you,” Joe said as Barry’s voice blurred into a hum.

“Cisco, Caitlin, they’re gone, I think, I think someone took them, there’s no sign of--of forced entry at their places, can’t find Caitlin’s car, Cisco’s shirt’s not--”

“Come to the station,” Joe’s voice was firm. “I’ll get the Captain and Eddie, we’ll find them.”

Barry forced himself to breathe, panic constricting his lungs. “I’m going to keep looking--there are places--Metahuman’s haunts. Peekaboo’s hangout, Mardon’s place--”  
“Barry, you need--”  
“I’ll call if I need backup, I have to keep looking!” Barry hung up, and started running again. Mardon’s old apartment building, followed by the Darbynian family’s restaurant, even though finding the Mist there was a long shot. The warehouse where Snart and Rory had held Caitlin was just as deserted as the other places, but it made a connection in his mind.

He tore through the Santini family safehouse where Cisco and his brother had been held, then their casino, then their other fronts, scattering papers and other things after him without a care. With the Darbynian family all but gone, the Santinis were the main crime family, and they had plenty of hideaways. He didn’t bother to pause and stop the crime he saw--counterfeiting, plans for a bank’s safe with tools, and what had to be drugs--the police could handle that. Caitlin and Cisco were his only priority--at first.

He did stop at one, a warehouse. There was a locked room, armed men standing guard outside it. But when he knocked them out at supersonic speed--it was so easy to reach 500, 800 miles an hour now-- and shattered the deadbolt, the captives he found were not his friends but a trio of terrified teenage girls.  As much as he was desperate to locate Caitlin and Cisco, he couldn’t leave them to wait for help that might not arrive before backup from their captors. He sped them to safety, and resumed the search, expanding the arc. If it wasn’t the Santinis--then who? 

It was many hours past sundown when Iris called. Barry had only paused long enough to down calorie bars in place of dinner, and the slim moon was high above, light pollution blocking out most of the stars.

“Barry, are you still out there?” Iris asked.

“Iris, I have to keep--” he shook his head to clear the blurriness from his eyes. “Keep looking.”

“You’re no good to them if you run yourself to death,” Iris responded. “The CCPD’s on it. Dad pulled some strings, so did Eddie,  just come home, sleep for an hour or two, eat some real food.”

“I can’t--”

“Bartholomew Henry Allen--” Iris started, and Barry swayed on his feet. An hour. Two tops. He could manage that, and start searching Keystone in the morning-- but first he had to check Star Labs--there might be demands, or a trap waiting that he could spring, something. Anything.

“Ok,” he said, gloved hand reaching up on instinct to rub the back of his neck. He hit the button on the side of his cowl that turned off the comm unit, and, after checking two more buildings, sped his way to STAR Labs. the phone there blinked to show calls had come in, but no messages left. Desperate, he redialed the numbers. The first went right to an automated voicemail, just the number, not even a name. The second rang and rang and rang, with no answer at all. Telemarketer? A business closed for the night? He scribbled down the numbers and made for Joe’s, knowing Iris would call again if he didn’t. He wasn’t sure he could take that. He made for home, his legs aching as much as his head and heart.

Exhaustion won out nearly as soon as he reached the couch in Joe’s living room.

 

* * *

 

He had not meant to sleep more than an hour, but when he woke, the sky was bright, not even the pink-gold of dawn or washed-out blue of early morning but brilliantly blue, the sun well over the horizon. Joe was gone, but had left a note for Barry to stop at the station and to eat the breakfast waiting. Barry rolled his eyes at the pot of oatmeal, added almost half a jar of honey, and devoured it. Even with what Caitlin theorized after reading Eobard’s files was the Speedforce stabilizing his body, he still needed an upwards of ten thousand calories a day, more if he was running a lot. He wasn’t planning on stopping until he’d found them, this time, even if he had to search every abandoned building, squatters hold, warehouse, or basement in the state.

Barry did take the time to try again to call Oliver, Felicity, Firestorm, but nothing went through. Oliver and Felicity, Barry remembered dully, were gone somewhere, up and left in the wake of so much catastrophe, and Firestorm moved around a lot--still. He left messages, frantic, where he could, emailed three of Felicity’s high priority emails, hoping she checked even just one of them, and at last called Clarissa.

“Mr. Allen? What is it?” she answered the phone after three rings, and he could hear the note of frown in her voice. “Is it my husband?”

“Have you spoken to him lately?” Barry asked. “I’m trying to get ahold of him and Ronnie, but the number they gave me’s been disconnected.”

“Oh, dear,” Clarissa said. “ No, we don’t talk over the phone. Much too risky. We send messages in the classifieds in some papers--nothing too local to either of us. The last one was this morning, but they have to go in two days in advance, so there may be a message tomorrow….not that that helps you, of course. He mentioned that they were moving to a new area--I think further north. I believe he’s trying to get in contact with some of his Canadian friends, co-authors and things, but that’s all I know.”

“Thanks anyway,” Barry said, failing at keeping his voice cheerful. “I should go--”

“No. What’s this about? Is there some kind of trouble? Or is this like the hole in the sky--something else you need my Martin’s help with?”

“I--” Barry drew a breath. “Caitlin Snow, Ronnie’s fiance? She’s missing.”

“Oh my. Are the police--?”  
“Yeah, no, yeah,  but I wondered if--I needed to let Ronnie know. Get his help--their help--searching.”

“I’ll check the records I have, see if any of Martin’s friends…” she trailed off. “You’ll find her. You brought my husband back to me, twice.”

“I need to keep looking. Thanks, Mrs. Stein.”

“Clarissa, dear. I’ll call if I learn anything.”

Barry hung up, cursed softly, and ran for all he was worth. Central City wasn’t massive, but it wasn’t small either, and neither was Keystone--to say nothing of the state. Hell, it had been a full day, longer possibly (probably), whoever had taken them--if they’d had a car, they could be anywhere in the country, if they had a  _ plane _ it could be anywhere in the world. He was only one man.  _ No, you’re the Flash, so keep looking.  _ He sped down the walkway near the waterfront, checking boat sheds and the buildings along the docks--shipping containers could take days to search just by sight, what Barry wouldn’t have traded for x-ray vision or one of Cisco’s inventions. Afternoon was rapidly approaching when he reached a new block of warehouses in Keystone, privately owned. Most were full of stuff--one was a supply center for Big Belly Burger kid’s meal toys, it seemed, one was full of bales of cloth, another with probably black market stolen antiquities. Barry’s feet ached, and breathing set his lungs on fire, but he kept searching until his earpiece buzzed.

“Joe?” Barry panted, coming to a stop. “Did you find something?”

“Yeah. Son, you need to come to the station.” Joe’s voice was  _ wrong.  _ It sounded heavy, defeated. Barry’s heart stuttered in his chest. “Joe? What is it? What did you find?”

“We had APBs out. The whole Tri-state. Rangers up at Piedmont State Park just called.” Barry froze. The name was familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

“Joe? What did they find?!” 

“Up by Hudson falls. They...they found Caitlin’s car.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D  
> feel free to leave comments, thoughts, theories, capslock keysmashes...  
> see you all next week!


	8. Chapter seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No new warnings: references to a suicide that did not happen and to physical violence

 

Barry hated that he couldn’t just burst into CCPD, but he forced himself to stop in the back alley behind the station so he could enter as himself and not the Flash.

“Joe? Eddie? Where--” he started, skidding through the doorway and beelining for their desks. Joe still held his phone.

“Barry,” Eddie’s hair was rumpled, like he’d been finger-combing it in anxiety, something Barry knew he rarely did.

“Joe said they found her car, did they find her? Is she hurt? Is Cisco with her? What happened?” Barry had to fight to keep his words from blurring into each other.

“They didn’t find her, but--” Eddie shook his head. “It’s bad.”

“Was there a wreck, did she crash, did someone hit her?” Barry winced. “Should I go--I can search the park, I can--”

“No, Barry. The car--her car’s intact. No crash. They found--it’s their jurisdiction, their case unless we can prove-- but they’re sending what they found.” Eddie was hiding something, Barry was sure of it.

“What did they find?”

“Barry,” Joe’s voice was low and level, and he glanced pointedly at Barry’s shaking hands. His vibrating hands, all but sparking. Barry gripped the edge of the desk.

“Joe?” he asked again.

“There was a note, in the car,” Joe started

“A ransom note?” Barry blinked. Snart had made a video, but that was before the Flash and the police were known to be on good terms…” Ok ok, then we have a place to start--”

“No, Barry. I haven’t seen it yet, maybe it’s just--that the officer’s confused, misread, or maybe it was forged, but it’s…” Joe let out a heavy breath. “They think it’s a suicide note. They think she jumped.”

“No.” Barry said it flatly, without hesitation. “No, it has got to be fake, had to have been forged or something, she didn’t--she wouldn’t---How can you even _think--?”_

 _“_ We know,” Eddie said. “But it doesn’t look good. We’re going to get the car and the note--they’re emailing a scan-- we’ll see if we can find something there.  I cashed in a favor to get an interview with all of the gate-people that’ve been on shift for the last two days. Someone has to remember who she was with.”

“Or a car following her,” Joe said. “Unless it was--what did Caitlin call that Metahuman? Poof-go-bye?”

“Peek-a-boo,” Barry corrected out of habit. “But she was never violent…”

“Except the time she tried to kill Caitlin,” Joe said.

Barry gripped the edge of a chair. “I need to get back out there. They may be in the woods, she might have--I’ll be back, call me as soon as you know anything.”

“Barry, wait,” Joe stared. Barry did not.

 

Joe figured he should have been glad that he hadn’t left a scattering of papers, taking off at mach two right there in the station. Eddie looked up at Joe. “This could be a trap. If they’re both missing…”

“I know. Make those calls. We’ve got to find a lead, and fast.”

* * *

 

The air was hot and stale inside the bag they’d forced over Caitlin’s head, dark, heavy cloth. Her hands still gripped Ronnie’s, and they pressed back to back. He’d murmured assurances to her until she had felt someone move closer and heard the guard do something to knock the wind out of him.  Touch was the only comfort left, the feel of body heat through thin shirts, the moving of lungs and the familiar heartbeats. Her hands felt halfway numb, a bad sign given how tight the restraints were. She squeezed gently, one pulse, two. He squeezed back, his hands so much warmer than her own.

They’d been in the van for what felt like hours, days, and she was almost grateful for the dehydration headache pounding in her head--she didn’t have to pee. Not that they would have stopped, she was sure. Her throat was dry, and it felt less like bravery that she didn’t cry, and more like she simply couldn’t. Where were they going? The old base, she remembered, where Eiling had taken Professor Stein, had been over 300 miles from the city, but there was no way to tell if that was where they were going now, or if they’d been in Central city to start with. Not that that mattered. Barry would find them all, sooner or later. She only hoped the sooner part came before Eiling could do whatever he planned. He’d been ready to _murder_ Ronnie and Stein last time, would have if Barry hadn’t intervened. So why all this trouble of moving them? Her mind raced, but any answers she might have come up with were lost as each jolt of the van sent her scrambling to keep any kind of calm.  

Everything was muffled. Caitlin was used to having to go on what she could only hear, or see represented through readings from Barry’s suit when he was out in the field, but none of that compared to this. Still, she thought she felt a change in the road, a curving turn and then somehow, the bumpy road got worse, jostling her from side to side. Still, no one spoke, though she knew there had to be two or three of Eiling’s people in with her and Ronnie. There wasn’t even the crackle of a radio, or if there was, she sure couldn’t hear it. Her pulse beat all the harder in her neck, and honestly she doubted she could hear anything over the sound of her own blood in her ears. The rattle of the van got worse, and suddenly Ronnie’s hands over hers tightened.

It was a few moments before she understood why. The ground under the truck had smoothed out again, and it was slowing to a halt.  She screwed up her eyes as she heard a door open, but no light reached her, not hooded like a captive bird, or a condemned prisoner making their way to the gallows. _Bad thought, bad metaphor, stick to birds._

“Move,” a voice, unfamiliar, commanded. Getting to her feet after so long spent half kneeling, half sitting, was hard. If her hands were partly numb, her lower legs were entirely pins and needles, and she stumbled back against Ronnie. The two of them managed to rise blindly, with all the awkwardness of newborn giraffes, but there was some small pride in doing it under their own combined power. They weren’t beaten, not yet. Barry would come, they were smart, they could figure a way out of this, they had to.

Someone grabbed her arms above the elbows, hauling her out of the van. Ronnie’s hands were ripped from her own.

“Caitlin!” he screamed, and she fought desperately, trying to dig her heels into the smooth floor uselessly.

“Ronnie!” she called back, swiveling her head to try to pinpoint where he was.

“Cait!” he screamed again, and then she was through a door that slammed shut behind her and whoever still had a firm grip on her arms, still dragging her forward.

 

Ronnie fought as best he could, kicking, writhing, but with his hands bound and the sack still over his face, tight at his neck, there was very little he could do. Even as he struggled toward the sound of Caitlin’s terrified cry, he was hauled backward, no match for his captors without his powers. Powerful hands on his shoulders herded him blindly away from Caitlin’s voice, from the van, hardly giving him time to do more than stumble. He was shoved through doors, twisting through a veritable labyrinth of hallways, and he could feel the chilled air through his sweaty shirt, against the exposed skin of his arms and hands. “What are you doing to Caitlin?” he demanded. “Where are you--”

“Shut up.” Something heavy, not a fist but the butt of a gun, or something similar, struck him in the ribs. He coughed, trying to breathe through the dark cloth that was sucked tight to his mouth and nose. For a moment, he had to rely entirely on his captors/guides to support him, unable to keep his feet. In return they paused, ripped the hood from his head, then shoved him bodily through another door, alone. He hit the ground with his knee and left shoulder, grunting in surprise as much as pain. Behind him, the door closed with the heavy clunk of several locks sliding into place.

Ronnie looked around the room--the cell-- as he regained his feet. He wasn’t expecting an open window or a weapon, but there had to be something useful, anything at all. There wasn’t much. A pallet on the floor, not even a metal frame, no blankets. A small toilet tucked into the corner. Two thin vents at the top of the back and side walls that would give even a rodent a difficult time getting through. Spinning, he saw that while three of the walls were the same dingy concrete as the floor, one was see-through, glass or plastic embedded with heavy wire mesh. Through it, he could see a similar room, and sprawled on the ground was Martin Stein, stone unconscious.  


* * *

 

It wasn’t hard for Barry to find Caitlin’s car, already towed to the local police station. He smiled at the receptionist, flashing his ID.

“Hi, I’m a CSI with CCPD?”

“You got here fast,” someone commented. “I’m Detective Hagen.”

Barry nodded at the woman. “I was in the area, one of our detectives called, asked me to take a look, since, you know, I was in the area.”

“Well, there’s not much to see. We’re still looking for a body, but depending on the timing…”

“Right,” Barry said, pained. “Detective, um, West mentioned a note? May I see it? In case there’s something overlooked--”

“It seemed pretty straightforward, but no harm in checking. Sent a scan of it down to your people already. C’mon.” She led Barry back to her desk. “We’re waiting on our CSI to get prints from it, after he’s finished with the car, and handwriting samples and such.”

Barry’s heart dropped when he saw the note in its evidence baggie. “No,” he said. “That’s her handwriting.”

“And how do you know that?” Detective Hagan asked, but Barry ignored her, scanning the letter again. He let out a sigh of relief, almost a laugh. _Ronnie’s death, Dr. Well’s accident, too much to bear--_

“What?” the detective demanded again, but Barry was already pulling out his phone. Joe answered, but Barry interrupted any greeting.

“Did you read the note? Did you see it? Joe, you know what it means, you know--”

“I read it. I saw. Where the hell are you?”

“Piedmont?” Barry offered. “ Joe, you know it was duress, she never--”

“Excuse me,” Hagan demanded. “What exactly is going on?”

“I gotta go, Joe,” Barry hung up. “Sorry, Um, it’s just that I knew her. Caitlin. Dr. Snow. She was my doctor, and this is her handwriting, but it’s not her words.  It’s just not.”

“Look, kid--Allen?” Hagan nodded to the ID Barry still held. “Maybe you just didn’t know her as well as you thought. But you of all people should know, if this was something bigger, we’ll get to the bottom of it. You should probably go, if you’re emotionally invested--conflict of interest. Sit this one out. It’s our jurisdiction.”

“No, I can help, I--” Barry stopped. It would be better to search the woods as the Flash. Let the cops do what they could, and he could do what they couldn’t. “You’re...probably right. I’ll--I’ll just see myself out…”

“I’ll walk you out,” Hagan insisted. Barry waited until he was outside before taking off in the direction of the Falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's a bit short today, that's just how it worked out.  
> Please feel free to comment!


	9. chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about missing last week, guys, I was super sick, but I'm mostly better now so that's good.  
> Warnings for this chapter: more of previous ones. threats mostly, nothing new

  
  


The hunger pangs in Cisco’s stomach had long since eased into a hardly there ache, the way they always did when he got caught up in a project for too long. It had always annoyed Caitlin, confused Barry, that he could go from starving to feeling more or less fine--not hungry, exactly, not desperate, just a little weaker, maybe a little nauseous even--in hours. Cisco had always seen it more as convenience, but it scared him now. He hadn’t been able to sleep, not with the throbbing ache in his head from the blow he’d taken, and the chill that seeped up through his clothes and skin.  No one had come in, or even made a sound after they’d left with Caitlin. It could have been hours ago, it could have been days ago, he didn’t know. What were they doing to her? Had they already gotten Ronnie? What about Professor Stein? What did they want from him, now, would they just leave him here to die? The thought would have dried his mouth with fear, except that it was already dry as bone, sour and foul. 

Eiling didn’t need him to use against Caitlin, anymore. He might not even need Caitlin, if he’d already caught Firestorm. Worse, Cisco remembered what Professor Stein had said, what Ronnie had said, Eiling being about to kill them. They might all be dead by now. But they hadn’t killed him, yet, and somehow that scared Cisco more than the alternative. 

It was quiet, very quiet. No one out in the hall, not even the dim static of a radio on a guard’s belt. He shifted, leaning back against the wall, careful not to jar his head too much. It still hurt, and he wasn’t sure if he was just imagining the way his hair felt almost damp. It might have just been sweat, after all, or his brain finding more things to be terrified of, the way his vision spun a bit could have just been exhaustion and anxiety and hunger, not bloodloss. At any rate, it was hard to tell when he lifted his bound hands to touch the spot, then looked at them again. There simply wasn’t enough light to see more than movement.

Caitlin and Ronnie and Stein were in trouble, but--Barry was still out there. Cisco swallowed. Sure, there was no psychic connection to Morse-code him their location, even if they--even if  _ he  _ knew it, but Barry would look, would find them. Joe, and Eddie, they’d look.  _ That doesn’t mean they’ll ever find you. It took everyone two weeks to find Eddie, right under your noses, and this place could be anywhere,  _ the more present than ever pessimistic voice suggested. 

_ You shut up. Nuh-uh, don’t wanna hear it.  _ Cisco thought back, screwing up his eyes as if that would make the thought stronger, or make the dark room melt away. It did neither.

* * *

 

On the bright side, Martin Stein had to admit, this time he wasn’t chained to a dentist’s chair from hell, and he still had his glasses. Those were, unfortunately, the extent of positive aspects of  his current predicament. It had taken slightly more effort than he would have liked to stand, and while showing the weakness of aging around Ronald or Clarissa or his former colleagues  was one thing, it was quite another to feel this helpless under the scrutiny of General Eiling. Before the man could speak, Martin fixed him with an unwavering stare. 

“If you’re going to kill me, don’t waste anyone’s time. Get it over with.” Martin said. He tipped his head toward the barrier that separated his prison from Ronald’s. He was awake, with two men standing almost casually, hands resting on weapons. The younger man was standing, clenched fists pressed to the clear Wall, but if he spoke, his words were inaudible, and Martin’s own nerves were too overpowering to separate out what was himself and what was Ronald’s. “But let the children go. They have no part in this.”

The general took a slow step forward, the heel and toe of his boots clicking against the rough floor.  He clucked his tongue like a disappointed schoolteacher. “Professor, Professor. What makes you think I want to kill you, after all the trouble it took to get you here?” 

Martin took in the predatory smirk, the cold light in his eyes, and did not flinch.

“Perhaps,” he said icily, “it was the gun you put to my head when last we met. Or, I don’t know, the gun you pointed at the pair of us not a minute and a half later. What was it you said? Oh, yes, our country ‘thanks us for our sacrifice.’ But of course, that was an invitation to an award ceremony and your retirement party, an easy mistake, I’m sure. How anyone could  _ possibly _ misunder-”

Eiling struck him across the face.

“Watch your mouth, Professor, or you’re not the only one who will regret it.” Eiling stepped back, appraising the situation. Professor Stein clenched his back teeth so hard he knew that on the other side of their bond, Ronald would feel it and disapprove. He’d always been the one more worried about their health, but the other half of Firestorm gave nothing away other than a firmer glare at Eiling. Martin knew that threat was not only aimed at the one-time engineer, but at Dr. Snow, as well, and perhaps even at Clarissa. 

“What do you want?” Martin fought to keep his voice from rising.

“We’ve already had this discussion. I want the secrets of Firestorm, and the files I acquired have been less than helpful.” Eiling shook his head. “From the time I was a boy, all I’ve wanted is to help my country. Keep it on the right path. With Firestorm, with these meta powers, just think what our soldiers can do.  No more drawn out, senseless wars. I want to see this country great again.”

“If you think I’m simply going to hand over my life’s work to be weaponized,” Martin said, trying not to imagine all the ways Eiling could coerce any information he wanted from them, “Then I’d like to see the idiots who promoted you. Perhaps if this country didn’t put people with room temperature IQ in charge of anything more complicated than putting caps on toothpaste--”

This time, Eiling didn’t hit him, but he cut off all the same as a soldier struck Ronnie. Eiling noted the wince, then leaned forward. Viper quick, he grabbed Martin’s chin.

“Insults will do you no good here, Professor. You and Mr. Raymond will be  _ most  _ helpful, whether you want to cooperate or not.” He released the older man with a shove. “I suggest you consider your circumstances. Make yourselves at home. I have a few more...arrangements… to take care of, but I’ll be seeing you.”

 

* * *

 

“You said you thought the Santinis might be behind this?” Eddie asked Barry.  
Barry was jittery, pacing.   
“I don’t--I don’t know. They have reason to have a grudge against Cisco, if they learned he was the one that built the Cold gun, and the Gold gun. So...It could be them, but I’ve looked in every place we know they’re connected to. And they have no reason to target Caitlin, none at all.  I need to keep looking--”  
“Bar,” Joe held out his hand. “ you’ve done nothing but search for hours. We need to come at this smarter, not faster. You can’t search the whole state by yourself.”

“They might be out of the country, by now,” Barry shook his head. “I should have realized something was wrong. I should have noticed…”

“Does Caitlin have any enemies?” Eddie asked. “Or Star Labs? Maybe it’s not something connected to the Flash, maybe it’s something from before.”

“What?” Barry shook his head “No, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Actually…” Eddie sighed. “It might. I mean, you haven’t been targeted. They took Caitlin and Cisco with hours of each other. It might be someone with a grudge against Star Labs.”  
Joe groaned. “There were hundreds of employees, potential employees… that’s a lot of suspects. Or a lot of potential targets, if it’s someone from outside the company, they might not stop with our friends.”

Eddie winced. “There’s another angle. Barry...how many enemies do you have?”  
“What? None, now that Wel--Eobard is dead. I mean, Snart’s out there but I don’t think--”  
“No, not as the Flash. As Barry Allen.” Eddie corrected. 

“I’m not a cop,” Barry shrugged. “And you said yourself, I’m not a target. I mean, I don’t think…”  
“Eddie?” Joe asked.

Eddie shrugged.  “There are three connections Cisco and Caitlin have. Their work with Star, their work with the Flash, and their work helping you.” he ticked them off on his fingers. “Maybe someone wishes you hadn’t survived your coma, or something like that. Is there anyone you’ve pissed off as Barry? A case your CSI stuff cracked? A case you testified in, maybe?”  
Barry shrugged. “I--It’s possible, I guess. I’ll look over case files.”  
“So will we.” Joe sighed. “So someone from Star Labs, someone with a grudge against Star labs, or someone from a case you’ve cracked. Not just the ones you’ve worked, they usually go after the cops, judges, even juries, lawyers. CSIs don’t really make the revenge docket unless it’s a big deal.”

“There might be a couple cases.” Barry chewed his lip. “I’ve got to get back out there, I’ve got to keep looking--”  
“Go home, son. Take files, see if you can find a, a lead there. You’re going to run yourself to death.” Joe insisted. “ At least eat dinner. Look through your case files, you’re more likely to understand any potential connection than we are. Eddie and I will look at any Star employees that might have had a grudge against both Caitlin and Cisco, and any threats aimed at them or their departments.”

“They worked in separate divisions. The didn’t interact a whole lot until the end, really. Ronnie and Cisco worked longer hours, Caitlin said once, so she stuck around, made friends with Cisco. I don’t think it’s Rathaway, this isn’t his style, and he knows that I at least know that Ronnie’s not dead. But someone else who worked on that part of the Accelerator project, maybe….”  
“Good to know,” Eddie said. “I’ll head to Star to get the stored personnel fi--”  
Barry vanished and returned a few seconds later with a box, then repeated the action three more times.

“Barry.” Joe said calmly. “Go. Home. you are asking to get caught as the Flash and that is the last thing any of us needs right now. If you find anything, call. We’ll call you if we get anything, I swear you will be the first to know. Now just. Go. Eat something. The other last thing we need is for you to go into a Hyper-whatsit Coma without Caitlin to help you.” Barry’s face fell. Joe winced. “ Barry, as long as we know she didn’t write that note, as long as we don’t have a body…”  
“There’s a chance she’s still alive. I know. But…” Barry shook his head. “What if she and Cisco…”  
Eddie put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll find them. We’ve got to believe we will. Don’t give up.”

Barry nodded. “I’m going to call Iris, she spent time with them while I was in my coma, they might have mentioned something to her, offhand, you know....”  
“Alright. I’ll call around nine, no matter what we’ve found or haven’t.” Joe said, then sat down and drew a box towards himself.

* * *

 

 

Someone had come in to bring another small meal. Water and crackers with peanut butter this time, rather than processed cheese. Cisco wondered how they knew he wasn’t allergic. Or maybe they wouldn’t have cared one way or the other. Cisco had tried to stay curled up against the wall, but he was hungry. They left the crackers and a small styrofoam cup, and he lunged for them as soon as he head the door lock. On the one hand, there was the glorious ideal of refusing his captor’s wishes, of never giving in, and on the other was the practical knowledge that without food and water, by the time Barry came to save them, he’d be too weak to help.

Time continued to drag by, and Cisco tapped fingers together, itched his nose, probed at the bruise around his eye as if confirming it was still there. In his head, he tried to think about anything other than what was happening.  _ Hi honey/ hi mom/ you feeling any better?/ A little bit/ guess what?/what/ your grandfather’s here/can’t you tell him I’m sick?  _ Anyone could memorize the more iconic lines of Princess Bride. Cisco had memorized the entire movie. He squeezed his eyes shut, wincing at the pressure on the bruise, and tried to remember exactly how the scene had looked, on the small TV set up in the Star Labs medbay the last time he’d watched it all the way through, eight  months into Barry’s coma. What color were the blankets, how was the room laid out, what was the mom doing with her hands. Holding something? He wasn’t sure, but he tried anyway.

He didn’t get far before he managed to drift slightly--not sleep, exactly so much as drowse, equally dangerous with a head injury. It was interrupted when a door slammed open. Instinctively, Cisco pressed back, trying to use the wall as support to stand, his eyes locked on the figure in the doorway. A small part of him hoped it was Barry, Ronnie, Joe or Eddie, even Oliver (gone) or Ray (dead). Even--even Dr Wells, but no, no, not Dr. Wells. Dig, or Barry, or the cops--

“Now that that’s taken care of, Mr. Ramon, I think it’s time we had a little talk,” General Eiling said. “I  _ do  _ apologize for the lack of hospitality. Had to get Firestorm all squared away.”

“What did you do to them?” Cisco demanded, the harshness in his voice not entirely from dehydration.  
Eiling let out an exaggerated sigh. “Moved them. This place is hardly as secure as it needs to be. Don’t worry, you’ll be joining them soon enough, assuming this next, shall we call it, _phase_ goes correctly.”

Cisco’s eyes burned with anger, but he said nothing. Eiling sighed again, and signaled behind him. Two soldiers entered, and Cisco recognized them from earlier. His ribs ached.

“Whatever you want from me, I won’t help you,” Cisco growled. Maybe it was the quantum splicer? He and Wells had been the ones to build it, though Martin Stein  and Ronnie could probably recreate it if they had blueprints. Weapons, maybe. Why else keep him here, keep him alive? But that didn’t make sense, Eiling had plenty of engineers to build weapons for him, the spike grenade he’d used against Barry last winter was proof of that.

Barry. The Flash. Eiling had tried to take him before...

Cisco’s eyes went wide as Eiling pulled out his cellphone. “Time to have a chat with your friend Mr. Allen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) :) please love me :)


	10. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I return from Hiatus and shit gets even more real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. you'd think when you've been working on a plotline for 18 months that writers block would be less of a thing but nope. anyway, hope y'all had a happy new year. I'm all moved back for my last semester of school, but I'll try to update at the very least every other week. 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: depictions of violence

Barry had not exactly kept his word. He had eaten, and called Iris, and she had promised to do some digging of her own, but he had left the conversation there. He had files of his own to look through, hunt through. There had to be something he was missing, some crucial clue, some scrap of evidence that would lead him in the right direction  to find the next and the next, a trail that would lead back to his friends. He was not a cop, but he knew as well as the rest of them that Caitlin and Cisco’s chances were not good. Whoever had taken them had even faked a suicide note, staged her car. That wasn’t something someone did to a kidnap victim they planned to release unharmed.  _ No, don’t think about what ifs that won’t solve anything. _

Eddie’s interviews with the park rangers had turned up nothing much. A woman with brownish hair had driven Caitlin’s car in, and while Eddie was leaning on the Piedmont Police Department to have the ranger sit with a sketch artist, that hadn’t happened yet. 

With Thawne’s escape from STAR Labs (and abduction of Eddie), most of the future tech had gone, too. All that remained in the time vault was that single newspaper hologram, but Barry combed through it for every name that might someday be important. Those had gone into boxes, like his murderboard, like his one time blog, clippings and scraps of the unusual, filed away for future reference. He’d thought any future that involved the “red skies” crisis a smaller article spoke of in past tense or some huge street battle in 2024 would come much later. But now, he wasn’t so certain.

His phone rang, and in the slowing of time as he reached for it at lightning speed, he thought it was too early to be Joe or Eddie, and checked the caller ID.

**Cisco**

Barry’s heart slammed into his ribcage like a battering ram as he jammed the phone to his ear.

“Cisco? Cisco where--”

“Hang up! Don’t li--”Cisco’s voice, high and desperate, cut off with a heavy thud. 

“Cisco! Who’s there, what are you doing?” Barry was on his feet in an instant, gripping the phone so tightly it creaked in his hand. The muffled sounds continued until there was a scream of pain. “What do you want, stop it! Leave him alone!  _ Stop it! _ ”

“Mr. Allen,” a new voice came over the line, familiar and hard. “Or should I call you the Flash?”

Barry could  _ feel  _ the lightning that gleamed in his eyes, tiny golden flickers that momentarily obscured his vision. It had been months since he’s head that voice, but he hadn’t forgotten. 

“Eiling. What do you want? Let my friends _ go _ .”

“That’s  _ General _ Eiling to you. Right to the point, excellent. You, Flash, will meet my men in front of Star Labs and surrender yourself, or your little pet engineer dies. Don’t waste my time trying to leave any cute warnings or notes or informing anyone. Anyone you get involved in this little arrangement   _ stays  _ involved, and I’m sure you don’t want that.  Cops lead such dangerous lives, after all, and that journalist friend of yours is bound to get in over her head sooner or later. After what happened to her mentor, no one will question it very deeply. Do I make myself clear?”

Barry’s heart raced at the threat, and it was all he could do to keep his feet planted, not race to the station, not play this to the world. It would only get Cisco hurt, Iris and Eddie and Joe, too. He squeezed his eyes closed to fight the lightning in them down. “Fine. Now let Cisco and Caitlin go.”

“I thought you’d agree. Smart man,” Eiling ignored that last. “You have five minutes. Better hurry.”

The line went dead before Barry could protest--demand to speak to Cisco, confirm Caitlin was even alive.  Barry swayed, almost collapsing. He didn’t want to think about how Eiling had learned his name, what he must have done to his friends. Barry’s brain worked through the information at top speed, sorting, trying to keep the tidal wave of emotions at bay with little luck.

It would be pointless to try to track the phone, if not the call itself, he knew that much.  They had tried tracking both cells earlier with no success, and whatever had been used to block the signal would be again. As much as Barry knew that blindly following Eiling’s demands was a poor choice, it was the only one he had. He couldn’t risk the reprisal, not to anyone he might tell or to Eiling’s hostages. Hopefully, Cisco and Caitlin would have enough information for the police, would be able to contact other friends for help if given enough time. 

Star Labs.  _ No, not possible.  _  He’d searched, they couldn’t be holed up right under his nose. But then, he’d looked for Eddie and missed him, too. What if there was some leftover hiding place from when Eiling had apparently worked with STAR? No, he couldn’t have overlooked that again. Maybe it was just somewhere close by. There were buildings, maybe hidden bunkers or something there. They couldn’t have been home all along. 

It did not take five minutes-- four and a half, now-- to reach Star Labs, to circle in wide arcs around it, hunting as Oliver had tried to teach him for traps or ambush.  If there was one, it wouldn’t make any difference, he had no choice but to trip it, not with Cisco’s life hanging in the balance. 

Three dark vans were already parked in the lot, and Barry slowed his pace, skidding across the thing scattering of gravel. He stopped several yards away. If any of the men Eiling had brought had one of those awful Spike grenades, he wanted to be out of range.

“General Eiling,” he called, low enough that only the soldiers spilling from the vans might hear. They were dressed in dark clothing, but Barry could still easily make out the dozen and a half men that fanned out, no doubt to encircle him.

“He’s busy.” Barry had thought he might recognize their voices, if not the hidden faces, from his prior encounters. That he did not unnerved him, it meant Eiling had a lot more people in on his side projects than anticipated. 

“Where’s Cisco?” Barry demanded, shifting from foot to foot like a deer ready to bolt, but forcing himself to stay put. 

One of the men reached for his belt, and Barry flinched until he realized it was a radio.

“Flash is here, Sir.”

The one who seemed to be in charge stepped forward. “Nice and easy, Flash. On your knees, hands on your head.”

Barry did not move. “ I said, Where’s Cisco?”

“Alive, for now. On the ground, Flash.”

“I want to  see him,” Barry countered. 

“You will. But if I have to tell you again, it’ll be his corpse. Now, Flash.”

Barry hesitated, and the man with the radio lifted it to his mouth again.

“No!” Barry’s body shook as he held up his hands in clear surrender. Slowly, he knelt, one knee giving out on him entirely as he bent the other.

He could have fought. He could have been on his feet and running towards Joe, towards  CCPN, towards the White House before any of them had time to fire a bullet. But all that would have guaranteed was Eiling giving an order to hurt--to  _ kill-- _ Cisco, and then trying again, going after Iris, or his dad. His shoulders slumped. There was just no way out.  He let himself be cuffed, and hauled upright.

Something heavy smashed into his head, and even the dim light of street lamps and the tail end of dusk went dark.

* * *

 

When the door to Ronald’s cell had opened, Martin had braced for his own door to do likewise.  Instead, it stayed firmly closed, and the trio of soldiers--Martin assumed they were soldiers, but they could have been private contractors, he supposed-- had surrounded the younger man, two pinning his arms and the third just out of reach holding his weapon with the confidence of a man who knew his own strength, and all the weaknesses of his opponent. 

“Wait,” Martin had snapped Ronald met his eyes just once, desperately, as he was pushed from the cell. “Where are you taking him? I told your  _ master  _ to leave the children be, you bootlicking  _ schmeckels.” _

They didn’t answer. Martin wondered if they had even heard-- the barrier had been soundproof, after all. There was no reason to think they’d heard, but his blood still boiled--not literally, but as close to it as was possible without being merged. 

His right knee trembled; it had always been a little weaker than the other. Martin sat again on the thin pallet, more closely related to a plastic gym mat than a bed. Why take Ronald? Eiling had to know that he was Firestorm’s creator,  _ he _ was the one who had all the information. Of course, he had explained most of his research to the younger man, but Ronald was an engineer, not a theoretical physicist, and had admitted that most of the papers Clarissa and Jason Rusch had smuggled them had gone over his head. If Eiling wanted answers, formulas, Ronald could not give them to him. He tried to focus, to feel Ronald’s emotions instead of his own, but it was all one swirling mass of fear and indignation and desperation, impossible to separate out. Even the fear for Clarissa might have been Ronald’s fear for Caitlin Snow. Unconsciously,  he rubbed his forearm, the jagged lines of his scar easy to find without looking. Barry Allen had come to his aid before. He would again, if only he could find them. They would just have to hold on--hold out--until then. He could never let Eiling have the power of Firestorm, but somehow he doubted he would have much in the way of a choice. If giving in was the only way to save Ronald’s life, or Caitlin’s, or his wife’s, Martin already knew he would do whatever Eiling wanted, and he knew the General knew it as well. 

_ Whatever rescue your friends are planning, Caitlin, I hope it comes quickly.  _

 

Enough time had passed by the time Ronald’s door opened and he was tossed in like a sack of moldy rye that Martin’s knee had gone stiff again. His own cell door rattled and opened  with a series of heavy clicks and thunks. Martin stood under his own power before they could yank his arms out of socket, and did not bother fighting. Perhaps he should have. He’d have liked to snarl and show these men that he was not cowed, not some docile captive already broken in spirit. But at 65, he was older than them by at least three decades, and they used that youth well. Even if he hadn’t been outnumbered and half starved, without the combined strength of Firestorm he doubted his efforts would do anyone a lick of good.

“This way,” one of them ordered, flat voiced, shoving hard enough that Martin stumbled, cursing his knee and the soldier both silently. Had he been shackled, the way he had been the first time he’d woken up as a “guest” of the military, he’s have lost his balance entirely. As it was, he still had to catch himself to keep from hitting the hard cement floor. Like the cell they had stuck him in, it was smooth, no little grooves to be seen, and the walls were covered in whitewash starting to yellow. 

There was a veritable maze of identical corridors, some with a few doors, others without, and his “guides” pushed him along without comment, sometimes ordering him to turn, sometimes simply forcing him around a corner without warning. At last, one pulled out a key card and a key ring and unlocked a door. His companions herded Martin inside. 

It was, Martin noted with both gratitude and regret, not the same basement interrogation room Eiling had stuck him in last time. He still had night terrors about that room, but it would have been easier for the Flash to rescue them there.  _ Likely why Eiling chose a new base of operations, you old fool,  _ he chided himself. It had been a half considered hope.

This room was startlingly brightly lit, smaller, with no ominous shadows in the corners. Like that first room, though, the one that had been damp and cold, this one had very little in the way of furniture aside from a counter set above drawers and cupboards, and a single mechanized dentist's-chair-from-hell. Shoeless on the slick floor, Martin’s efforts to resist were fruitless.

“You realize you won’t be getting away with any of this? This is a dozen kinds of illegal,” Martin snarled at the man who was now half dragging him.

“What you think the cops are going to come and rescue you? No one even knows you’re here, old man, and no one who cares ever will. Sit down, or I will shoot you. The General needs you alive, but he didn’t say whole.” 

Martin did not sit. The two soldiers who had not drawn weapons pinned him in place, wrists secured to the chair arms. For a heartbeat, he wondered if Eiling had learned how he had communicated his location to rescuers before, but shook off the thought. Ronald was already here, and this room seemed bare of any convenience “you are here” signs.

He could not see the door from his seat, but he heard it open, and the shuffle of footsteps. 

“You’re dismissed,” a new voice said, and the soldiers trooped out, single file.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and love me. See y'all next week (or visit me on tumblr at hedgiwithapen


	11. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, sorry for the delay. To make up for it, this chapter's longer! I hope you enjoy it. Also today's my birthday, which is why you get a chapter today instead of tomorrow.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: blood, threats, non-consensual blood draws (second section)  
> if there are things I miss in my warnings please let me know.

 

 

Cisco’s shirt dried, the blood sticking to his skin. Most of it, he suspected, was from his nose. He didn’t remember anyone actually using the knives they’d displayed. He didn’t remember much at all, which probably meant that the head wounds were worse than anticipated, and that was just the icing on the cake, wasn’t it.  _ Cake.  _ He’d thrown up the scant meal he’d gotten, which was yet another checkmark on the “Should go to the hospital/ Caitlin” list but that wasn’t exactly an option. Still, he was starving. Was that a good sign, or a worse one? He wasn’t sure. He tried to piece together the fragments he was certain of. Eiling had called Barry. He’d known who Barry was. Had he tortured that out of Caitlin, or Ronnie? He’d tried to warn him, but then someone’s fist had knocked the air from his lungs and someone else had crunched his nose...and then….Cisco started to shake his head against the lack of memory and the pitch darkness of the cell he’d woken up in. He regretted it, his empty stomach protesting the twinge of pain in his head. 

They’d moved him, he was certain of that. Maybe he really had been left to die, this time. It wasn’t like they’d let him go, no matter what deal Eiling had promised Barry. Shady military groups and kidnappers weren’t really bound to their word, and when the shady military group that had already tried to disappear Ronnie once--and shot up a cafe with tranqs to do it, public relations apparently be damned-- that only increased. 

He hugged his knees, gingerly, partly as a protection for ribs that still ached, partly for warmth, partly as a last ditch comfort.  _ I hope you have a plan, Barry.  _ But Barry rarely had plans other than “ run around real fast and hope for the best,” and Cisco knew, as much as he hated to admit it, he couldn’t count on being rescued. He never had been, anyway. Barry’d try, but trying and succeeding didn’t always go together. He’d have to do everything he could himself if he was going to get out, but the trouble was, he could hardly stand, or move without little white specks floating in his vision. Cisco hated being helpless. He was sick of it, helpless to stop Snart, or Thawne, and now Eiling. With the door locked and what was most certainly a concussion, there wasn’t much he  _ could _ do, besides pray and hope. 

He didn’t bother to close his eyes, it was dark anyway, but he bowed his head, and started to hiss the first words of the prayer he’d learned when he was hardly old enough to manage all the sounds correctly. His mouth was too dry, and it hurt, so he settled for a silent prayer instead.   _ Padre nuestro, que estás en el cielo, Santificado sea tu nombre. _

 

* * *

 

Martin twisted in the chair as best he could, trying to get a look at whoever had just walked in, but he might have spared himself the chafing. A man walked into his line of sight, part of a sweater visible under a stereotypical white lab coat. There was an embroidered name badge, stark black letters that Martin could only partly make out. Dr. H- something. As he moved closer, Martin squinted, trying not to make it apparent. Dr. H. Hadley. 

The name wasn’t familiar, not from any of the research he’d done on Eiling and his associates--Martin had made it a point to learn as many as he could, not just Eiling, but others, just as paranoia Ronald had indulged him in. But knowing the names and faces of potential enemies hadn’t prevented this, and not knowing this man’s identity, Martin knew, didn’t mean a thing. He worked for Eiling, and that was all that mattered. The doctor ignored Martin, methodically checking through drawers, pulling out a tablet and typing into it.

“Let me guess, another of Eiling’s lapdogs?” Martin spat, trying to hide his fear in mocking, but his voice shook a little too much. “Tell me, do you work for Eiling because you got kicked out of medical school, or do you just get off torturing people? Your mother must be so  _ very _ proud either way.”

Dr. Hadley turned, facing the chair. “I’ve heard of you, Firestorm. Even before the General brought me in on this. I saw you on the news, or the other part of you, although that’s not accurate either is it? I’ve waited a long time to study you, your powers.”

“You’re going to be disappointed,” Martin told him, trying to suppress the shudder that ran up his spine.

“I doubt that very much,” Dr. Hadley glanced up over the top of the chair and motioned to someone apparently standing in the doorway. The owner of the shuffling footsteps was a younger man than the doctor, mid twenties at best. His blonde hair and the stubble of a hastily shaved beard was reddish, and he seemed skittish, swiping his palms against his too-large coat, like the first year students Martin had never had time for. Quietly, the professor filed that away. Any weak spots at all that could be exploited would be needed. 

“Take notes,” Dr. Hadley thrust the tablet at Skittish McIntern. From a new drawer he took an empty syringe, and a roll of bright yellow tape bandaging. “Two vials, same as from the other one, for the initial tests. CBC, and a Blood Enzyme to start.”

Martin flinched when Hadley’s gloved hands grabbed his arm,shoving his sleeve up roughly. About to tie the band, Dr. Hadley paused, then waved impatiently at the intern, who scrambled over. Martin tried to kick him, and missed.

“Get your hands  _ off-- _ ” They ignored him. 

“What is it, Doctor? Oh.”  
The scar was nowhere near as vivid as it had once been, harsh red letters begging for a location, but it had never faded, even if it hadn’t been carved into his own skin. Even Dr. Snow’s ointments hadn’t done much, though it was fainter on Ronald himself. 

“‘Where,’” Skittish McIntern read out. “It’s the same as--”  
“As the mark on the other one, yes. And isn’t that interesting. Get a picture.”  
While McIntern apparently did so, fumbling with the tablet, Martin struggled again against the hold on his arm, both from the restraints and Dr. Hadley . “I said, get your hands off me,” Martin repeated. “Clearly you did flunk out of Med school, you absolutely useless--.”

“Quiet,” Hadley snapped, finding a vein. He was not gentle with the needle, and Martin didn’t dare pull away, even if he could have, which he doubted, with both the Intern and Hadley pinning his arm to the chair’s armrest. The small vial seemed to fill agonizingly slowly, and then the other.

Hadley set them aside and tabbed over the puncture mark, something Martin could not bring himself to be grateful for. 

“You and your other half both have this mark.” he said, though it seemed more like he was thinking aloud. “Judging by your reaction to needles, you don’t seem like the kind to get matching tattoos, and neither did your other half. A scar. So how did you and the other one come by this, exactly the same?” he didn’t wait for an answer, just turned to Skittish McIntern. “I’ll need samples of the scar tissue from both of them. Get on it, and get someone to take the blood to the lab.”

* * *

 

Joe wasn’t looking forward to calling Barry to tell him that there were no leads. Drawing another stack of personnel files over to himself, he hoped there might be something there. There might have been, but the problem was something akin to looking for a needle in a haystack, but moreso. There were too many motives, too many possible pools of suspects, and all of it made the detective feel ill. He’d been on Major Crimes for the better part of two decades, but this was different. Caitlin and Cisco were as much family as Barry had been, 11 years old and traumatized.   
He scanned the file quickly--a complaint Caitlin had filed about the security of the lab she’d been using three years ago. One of the techs had been fired for stealing chemicals as a result of the inquiry. Joe scribbled down the name, and looked over at Eddie, trapped behind his own fortress of papers and boxes. 

“Anyone stick out?” Joe asked.  
Eddie shrugged, rifling through the papers. “A couple names, but I already ran two of them and one’s dead and the other’s already in prison--grand theft. I haven’t checked the others but it’s all pretty thin. You?”

Joe grimaced. “Not yet. Oh, damn.”

“What?”   
“9:20. I should call Barry, see if he’s found anything. He’d have called if he had, but maybe he’s distracted…”

Joe called the housephone first, out of habit. The phone rang out. There was no point in leaving a message, so Joe hung up and called Barry’s cell. “So help me God,” he murmured, “If you found a lead and didn’t call for backup--”

“Hi, you’ve reached Barry Allen, I’m not here right now, If this is because I’m late for--”

Joe hung up almost gently, not bothering to listen to the rest. Every alarm he possessed, every instinct, screamed at him, as if they’d been going full blast from underneath a down quilt and someone had thrown it back.

“Eddie, get your things, we’ve got to get to my place.”

Eddie was on his feet almost as fast as Barry might have been, knocking one of the towers of files over. He left it, following Joe for the door, towards his car. “Joe, what’s--”

“He’s not answering.”

Eddie’s already pale complexion went whiter. “Oh, God. You don’t think we were wrong, do you? That he wasn’t a target?”  
Joe didn’t bother to answer, just flipped on his siren and drove.

 

The front door was closed, locked. Joe motioned for Eddie to circle around, while he unlocked it. The entryway and livingroom looked untouched--covered in files, but in a way that Joe knew was the sort of way Barry always laid out papers. There was nothing broken, not even the glass panes on a displayed family photos. Nothing was out of place in a truly threatening way, just the natural chaos Joe had been used to for years. 

“Barry?” Joe bellowed, loud enough to wake him if he’d just--gone to bed upstairs. It was about as likely as the sun rising in the west, and Joe knew it, but still.    
There was no answer. Eddie slipped in the back door. 

“Nothing. No sign anyone got in, no sign anyone was here...Maybe he found a lead and went chasing it?”

Joe stood in the middle of the living room. “Maybe.”  
Neither of them really believed it.

 

* * *

 

Cisco jolted out of whatever half-nap he’d managed, even knowing what a Bad Idea ™ sleeping was with one head injury, let alone...several, when he heard--felt, almost, in his ribs and finger bones--the door to his cell open. A dim fluorescent light set into the ceiling buzzed to life, flickering. 

“Cisco!”  Caitlin said, her voice craggy from thirst. She crouched by him, her face pale. “Look at me, ok? Just look at--” she saw the blood next. Cisco watched her shift, like sliding on a coat, from concerned friend to Doctor Snow.

“I need a first aid kit,” she snapped at the guard standing just inside the door, closed again.

“Too bad, sweetheart,” he said.

“Don’t call me that,” she growled. “Your stupid General wants me to treat him? I need something to treat him with. At least some water, bandaging, and antiseptic, idiot. ”

“Watch your mouth.”  
“Do you need me to use smaller words? First. Aid. Kit.” She turned back to Cisco. “What did they do to you?” behind her the door opened and closed again with a heavy clunk. Hopefully he was getting a first aid kit and not going to hurt Ronnie, or tell Eiling. 

“Just hit me. A lot,” he winced as she tilted his head, trying to check his pupils as best she could. “Head, ribs. I don’t really remember, but--they--they called Barry. Eiling did.”   


Caitlin swore under her breath. “We’ve got to get out of here.” She checked over her shoulder, making certain they were alone, or as alone as they could be. There were probably cameras, but the guard hadn’t returned.

“Do you know here even is?” Cisco asked with a dry cough and a wince.  
“Stay still, your ribs,” Caitlin cautioned instictively. “Can I feel? I can’t do much if they won’t even give me _bandaids_ , but…”

Cisco nodded slowly, and she reached forward. “I don’t think I’m going to be much use, escaping.”

Caitlin’s shoulders sagged a little. “I--I couldn’t leave anyway. I don’t know where they’re keeping Ronnie. They had me blindfolded the whole time, and they took him away.” Tears pricked at her eyes. She did her best to ignore that, pressing gently on Cisco’s ribs. When he hissed, she stopped. “I don’t think it’s broken. Might just be bruised, if we’re lucky.”

“Lucky,” Cisco echoed, meeting her eyes. “Look, we’re still alive. That guy didn’t hurt you, even when you snarked at him. That means--they need us, or at least you. Probably to use against Ronnie, but at least that means he’s alive.”

“Yeah,” Caitlin clasped her hands loosely. They were numb, the way they often got when she was terrified or furious. She was both, now, and it was hard to tell which was too blame. Trying to work feeling back into her fingers, she realized Eiling hadn’t given her back her ring. Her hand felt naked without it.

“We’e gotten through worse,” Cisco murmured.

“Have we?” she asked, and regretted it. She wasn’t sure they had, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t get out of this--to call it a mess seemed an understatement. 

In answer, the door opened, the same soldier in uniform returning, a second following him. The second held his gun, and Caitlin wanted to snap at him  _ Does it look like we’re going anywhere, you soggy pigturd,  _ her temper flaring, but she refrained. The first man was holding a white box and a plastic gallon jug of water. He put them down, and she watched, hungrily. Her throat felt so dry. Behind her, Cisco made a small noise.

“Don’t waste it. That’s all you’re getting for a while.”

“What about food?” Caitlin asked, tense.

“Consider yourself lucky to get this much. If you don’t want it--” he reached for the handles, and Caitlin bit her lip. Insulting their captors was the only power she had, but they had more, and pride wasn’t worth dying of dehydration.

“Wait, no--” she scrambled forward.

“That’s what I thought.” he tossed the box down again, and it bounced, the red emblem looking as holy as anything Caitlin had ever seen. 

She grabbed the first aid kit and water and returned to Cisco’s corner. The two soldiers left again, but she was sure they would be close by, at least one of them. 

“Don’t drink it all,” she said, passing the jug to Cisco first. “I need some of it to clean that cut on your head.

“And for you to drink,” he said, taking three small sips.

“Mmm.” Caitlin looked through their inventory. Anything that could be used as a weapon had been taken, even the metal clasps for the ankle wrap. But there were gauze pads and a few wipes, and at this point she’d take what she could get. “Hold still, alright? This might sting.”

 

* * *

 

 

Barry felt the skin on his wrists catch and break as he jolted against the cuffs. It didn’t stop him from trying again, certain that if he could just get the frequency right, he could vibrate through, and failing that, tug really hard, really fast. He didn’t have super strength exactly, but surely if he could get up enough momentum he could snap the chain, right? So far all it had gotten him was a series of nicks and scrapes. He’d woken up in a room that looked too much like the interogation room at CCPD for comfort, and not the one set up for “we don’t want to scare you off because you came in voluntarily as a victim but we know you did it” guys, either, but the kind one with bland concrete walls, heavy metal table bolted into the floor and an equally hard chair that wasn’t. His hands had been pulled though the back of the chair and secured, his ankles cuffed a little more loosely. He was certain they were watching through the one-way mirror, but they hadn’t responded to the first five minutes of demanding to see Cisco, to see Caitlin, to talk to Eiling, to talk to a lawyer, so he’d given up on that front. 

Now, he hung his head.  _ Think. Think. There’s got to be something just think, like you should have before, stupid, stupid, you could have gotten the cops, Eiling wouldn’t have dared go after everyone if you went public, posted the call online, but--he’d have killed Cisco and Caitlin, and maybe it wouldn’t have stopped him, what if-- _ No. He’d done what Eiling wanted, they had to be ok. Iris had to be safe, too. Worried, pissed, but alive. They  _ had _ to be.  _ Don’t think about that, don’t think about any of that, focus, focus. Escape. Find Caitlin and Cisco and run. Lightning. Feel the lightning, the air--.  _ It was hard, with the rest of his body so still, to get only his hands to move, only his ankles. He felt blood drip from the cuffs at his ankle, warm against his bare foot, and hissed in pain. 

 

“Flash, what’s this? Trying to run out on us?” Eiling asked, coming through the door Barry hadn’t even heard open. He flinched as the General sat in the chair across from him, smug. “We have a deal, don’t we?”

“You said you’d let Cisco and Caitlin go.” Barry wished he’d gotten more from the lightning bolt. Something like Farooq, something like Firestorm, or the Mardons. Something like Bette. 

Eiling leaned back a little. “I said no such thing.”

“Me for them, that was the deal, you have me, let them go,” Barry demanded.  
“I never said a word about Doctor--Snow, was it? The deal, as you put it, was your cooperation for Ramon’s life. I’m not about to let him scurry off to the authorities--not that they have any real power to stop me, but it gets messy. Inconvenient. No, he and your Dr. Snow, stay right here. As do you.” Eiling’s grin reminded Barry of a shark, or a mountain lion. Predatory, waiting for a sign of weakness.  

Barry narrowed his eyes. “Leave them alone, Eiling.”

Eiling shrugged. “As long as you all cooperate, I have no reason to hurt them. Now, if you were to be stupid and misbehave, that changes things. So, Flash, are you going to cooperate?”

Barry thought of the way Ronnie had screamed, feeling Martin’s pain from hundreds of miles away, of the haunted look in Bette San Souci’s eyes, of the way everything had burned when he’d been hit by the weapon Eiling’s people had built.  _ Can’t let them get hurt like that. Can’t. _

“I--You--” he shuddered, the movement jarring his wrists against the restraints. “I’ll do what you want, if you let them go. You don’t need them here to threaten me. Just let them go, and I’ll tell you anything you want about metahumans, about me.”

Eiling looked at him critically. “Let’s pretend, Flash, that I were to believe you. You’d really answer every question, follow every order, submit to every test, even without your friend’s lives depending on it?”

Barry felt bile rise up in his throat, burning at the obscenities he wanted to spit. “You’ve got me here already. You have your weapons. It’s not like I have a choice, so just let them go.”

“Interesting.” Eiling stood. Barry had not felt so small since his growth spurt at fourteen, zipping up to just over six feet before he was even old enough to drive without Joe in the passenger seat. He felt small now, but he met Eiling’s cold gaze directly. Whatever happened to him didn’t matter.

Eiling motioned at the window, and a man entered by that same strangely silent door. 

“Carroway, the Flash here has convinced me. We don’t need Snow or Ramon as hostages for good behavior.” Eiling turned to stare down at Barry again, and smirked. “Kill them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I think it's time for a capslock party, don't you?  
> I'll be in Hell, roasting my s'mores.


	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay. I'm trying to keep on top of things. Hope this makes up for it! (and thank you for the birthday well wishes last chapter!) enjoy!
> 
> Warnings for this chapter include more of the same as before, blood, death threats. If there is something you want me to warn for that I have missed, please let me know.

 

“No!” Barry jerked again against his restraints, the shout tearing from his throat. He tried to lunge forward, hampered by the chain and ignoring the metallic bite. “You son of a--”

Barry saw the punch in slow motion before the blow landed, unable to dodge. Eiling caught his chin in a vice grip and bore down.

"Do  _ not _ shout at me. Not if you want your friends to live."

Barry knew he was trembling, and pulled as fast and as hard as he dared to wrench free of the General’s grip.

Eiling held up a hand to pause the soldier, wavering at the doorway.

"So, tell me, Flash,” Eiling said, almost conversational, sinking back into his chair. “Do I need your friends, or don't I?"

“If you touch them--”  
“Careful,” Eiling warned. “Or I’ll decide I only need one of them to keep you in line.”

Barry’s shoulders, aching from the position he’d been restrained in, slumped. This was all because of him. Eiling had tortured his name out of them, had hurt them, was threatening to kill them, because of him. He couldn’t let anyone else suffer for his powers, his identity. “You need them,” he whispered, broken voiced.

“I didn’t quite catch that,” Eiling mocked.  
“You need them, both of them,” Barry repeated, desperate. “Please--”  
Eiling looked at him from across the table. “Somehow I thought you’d say that.” He signaled to the soldier, who returned to his position behind Eiling, away from the door. Barry’s lungs burned with relief. They were safe for now. It wouldn’t last long, but they were safe for now. That was what mattered.

“But there’s something you had better get clear, right now, Flash. You’re in no position to give me orders. You don’t make the deals, I do. You misbehave, your friends pay the price. Am I clear?”  
Barry’s gut clenched with anger and shame, but he nodded.  
“Answer me. And you’ll address me properly, as ‘sir.’”

“Yes, sir.” Barry forced the words through grit teeth.

“That’s more like it. We’ll be seeing quite a lot of each other, Flash. I suggest you get used to this.”

Barry sucked in a breath, a chill sliding up his spine.  _ As soon as they leave, as soon as I get something to eat, I can vibrate out of this, I can get the others out, we’ll be ok. Everything will be fine we just have to survive till then everything will be fine everything has to be.  _  He tried to move again, the metal of the cuffs digging in sharply. Barry realized with sudden clarity that he was not wearing his suit, just a pair of sweats and a tee shirt. He went cold. Cisco being pissed for the loss of the suit later was probably the least of their problems.

“Now, why don’t we start with something easy. How fast can you run, exactly?” When Barry hesitated, Eiling continued. “Cooperate, and Snow and Ramon might get something to eat today. Otherwise, well. You’re a forensic scientist. I’m sure you know how long someone can last without food. Without water. How fast can you run?”

Barry’s throat felt like he’d tried to gargle dust. “Mach--” he coughed. “Mach two, but only if I build up to it, I’ve only done it once, I don’t think--”

“Mach two.” Eiling interrupted. “That’s what, a thousand miles an hour?”  
“Fifteen hundred,” Barry corrected automatically. It was only when the soldier, Carroway, shifted, that he tacked on “Sir,” with more venom than was safe. Eiling ignored it.  
“That’s as fast as an F-16. If we had a whole army of you… And we will, soon enough.”  
Barry shuddered. “It doesn’t work like--”  
“Then we’ll just have to make it work, or your friends’ lives--your life--are worthless to me.”

Barry’s eyes widened further. “No,” he rasped. 

“That’s what I thought. Now, I’m going to need a demonstration.”

 

* * *

 

“Tell me you found him,” Iris demanded. Eddie shook his head.  
“Something’s jamming his phone, or else it’s off, and the battery’s out. We can’t get a trace on it.”

“What about his suit? It’s gone, I checked at STAR Labs.” Iris looked exhausted, like she hadn’t slept a wink, and Eddie knew the feeling, having returned to the station with Joe and not slept either. 

“It’s not like we can ask the tech guys at the station to look for the suit without compromising his identity, and anyway, as good as they are...Maybe Cisco could have, but he’s not here.”

“There has to be something,” Iris insisted. “Some clue. He wouldn’t just go without a fight.”  
“If--” Eddie cut himself off and started again. “For his friends he would have. I remember the fight against that guy, Snart? Wasn’t much of a fight, just distracting and dodging. He did that for Caitlin, didn’t he?”   
Iris shrugged--she’d never gotten the full story, since it was before anyone had told her the truth. “Yeah, I guess, but--my dad was looking for her. Barry wouldn’t just let someone take him without leaving some kind of clue or lead. We both got enough lectures from dad growing up. And they are alive. They have to be.” 

Eddie winced. “We’re trying to get his phone records now, Cisco and Caitlin’s, too, well, we got those, but there’s not really anything there. Whatever happened to Barry’s phone…”  
“The same thing’s affecting theirs. But that can’t be the only thing, there has to be some way of tracking--”  
“Iris,” Joe handed Eddie a paper cup of coffee, tossing his own empty one into the trash bin with three other empty cups. “We’re doing everything we can. The techs are running the footage from Cisco’s building cameras, from traffic cams on Caitlin’s commute. Eddie, that park ranger’s here for you to talk to, down the hall. If it’s the same person, finding one of them will lead us to the rest.”

“What can I do?” Iris demanded, knowing she was about to be told to go home, or to work. She had a couple of stories to run by Larkin, but this counted as a family emergency if anything did, and there was no way she’d be able to concentrate on the reopening of one of the subway tunnels or the recent debacle with the meta she was calling Station Master. Cisco had hated that name. 

“Go ho--” Joe stopped and shook his head. “ Go to STAR Labs. see if you can get in touch with someone in Starling City--wait, it’s Star now, right? Just see. Maybe they know something.” It was, Iris thought as she nodded, too much to hope Barry and the others were all safe with the Arrow and his pals. They’d have told her, someone would have.   
She nodded. “Maybe I can figure out the tracker in Barr--in the suit. Or something.” it was a long shot, she didn’t remember much from Cisco’s hurried explanations, but maybe there were instructions somewhere her dad had missed.  
Joe looked at her. “Take my car. There’s a gun in the glove box. Keep it with you.”  
“Dad--”   
“Iris, do it. Don’t take any chances, you find a lead, you call one of us right away.”  
“I--ok.” Iris took the keys.   
“ We’ll find them,” Joe said. She hoped he was right, and immediately chastised herself. Of course they would find them. Anything else was unthinkable.

* * *

 

Barry hadn’t dared make a run for it when the soldier who’d almost killed his friends-- Carroway--  and another had unchained him and pushed him along down the hallway as Eiling walked ahead of them. Somewhere, the cement flooring turned to off white linoleum, them back to cement. Barry fixed the pattern in his head as best he could, the number of turns, the way the linoleum had been flecked with blue and black, just in case. His short term memory had suffered some when he got his powers, not terribly detrimentally for day to day life, but it was harder to remember new obscure things, like widths of irregular tires or popular linoleum patterns by location and year with so much else coming in at once. Being able to see so many things and process it all so fast had more than made up for it, until now. 

He flexed his fingers, trying to work feeling back into them and into his bare toes, feeling a pang of hunger compete for attention with the pins in his hands and feet and the ache in his head. Somehow, he didn’t think Eiling would give him a break for breakfast before the demonstration. Well, he’d run on an empty stomach before, and mere hours after getting crushed under shelving units. This couldn’t be too much worse than that.  _ Nothing Caitlin can’t fix when I get us all home,  _  he told himself as the two soldiers herded him into small room that looked like it had been set up in a hurry. An observation window much like the one set into the wall at STAR Lab’s exercise room, took up one wall, Eiling and one of his lackies already behind it. A treadmill filled most of the rest of the space, wires running to the wall beneath the window. Barry frowned. 

The treadmill was bulky, with side handles that extended most of the way down the smooth belt, but didn’t attach anywhere but the front of the grey machine. He hesitated as he approached it, uncertain. 

“Flash, your friends won’t appreciated a waste of time any more than I do.” Eiling’s voice crackled over an intercom. Barry scowled and got on, looking for the quickstart button he was used to. Back at STAR, the treadmill was programmed to follow his lead, but he doubted this one, a barely modified standard model, was made to do the same. It started without him pressing anything, probably because there was nothing to press. No start, no stop, no speed adjusters, just a blank space where the LifeFitness screen really should have been. His feet protested the barefoot running, and he hoped fervently that the sweats wouldn’t catch fire as the speed picked up, little by little. 

It was almost an achingly slow pace, 20 miles an hour tops, then up to 35, 45, 60. Someone, Eiling or his minion, had to have been controlling the speed from the other room.  Beneath him, the treadmill groaned and creaked. Barry did his best to ignore that, and the way the blank white wall ahead of him was starting to look a little fuzzy and grey, but with each step, the machine jolted a little, not well anchored at all, rocking back and forth faster and faster, though still probably only at a hundred, a hundred fifty miles an hour. Barry smelled a whiff of smoke and cringed, until he realized with relief it was not from his pants or shirt. What was it Cisco had said, ages ago, when he’d finished fixing the special treadmill back home? Most run-of-the-mill treadmills could only get up to a couple hundred MPH. He didn’t dare stop running, not with the threat to Cisco and Caitlin. 

Barry wasn’t sure if it was the treadmill that gave out, or his own legs, as he went flying, his head slamming into something hard enough to knock him out cold.

 

* * *

 

 

Caitlin had hoped, then the door to their little cell opened, that it was someone bringing food, if not a rescue. Instead, one of their captors, the same one who had threatened to take the water away, pointed his gun at Cisco’s roughly bandaged head. Caitlin moved to shield him, clenching a hand around the handle of the first aid kit.   
“Doctor Snow, come with me. The General wants to see you.”  
She almost spat back that if Eiling wanted to see her, he could come himself, not send an errand boy hardly old enough to shave, but thought better of it.  She handed the first aid box to Cisco, who tried to stand to follow her.  
“I’ll be ok,” she told his, voice low. She didn’t exactly believe it.

The man let her walk under her own power, a welcome change, but kept the gun out. She scowled, but followed his lead again through the maze of hallways.

“Hello, Doctor,” Eiling said when she was shown inside a room. At least this time they weren’t chaining her to a chair, or shoving her. “Enjoying your stay?”  
“If you’re going to keep making me walk around this place, you could give me back my shoes. And the catering sucks.”

Eiling smirked, and nodded to a window, saying nothing. Through it, she saw a figure, sprawled out on the ground at the base of a wall, behind what appeared to have once been a treadmill.

“Barry! What did you do to him?” She rushed forward, pressing a cool hand against the glass.

“Nothing. He told us he could run at Mach two. Made it to 175 and passed out. Almost funny, except that I need the data.”  
“ You’re sick.”  
“ And if you don’t tell me why he passed out, you’re a dead woman. I can find other leverage against Firestorm. The Professor has a wife, I believe.”  
Caitlin turned, fury turning her knees numb. “I’m not psychic. I need to examine him.”  
“What’s your best guess, Snow? From here. Unless you think he’s faking?”  
Caitlin shook her head. “How long ago did you abduct him? Have you starved him like me and Cisco? If you have, it’s probably that. He’s hypoglycemic.”

Technically, that was part of Barry’s medical records, and she should have kept it to herself, but she doubted Eiling cared much about HIPAA, and it was to save his life. Eiling frowned at her, and she pressed on. “He needs to eat more, especially if he’s running a lot, or h--” she cut herself off. There was no reason to tell these monsters anything they didn’t already know about Barry’s powers.  
“Or what, Doctor Snow?” Eiling’s smile was far from warm.   
“Or when he’s--under a lot of stress,” Caitlin hurried to think of something that could possibly make sense, and hoped the lie would pass muster. “Elevated heart rate, more calories burned, it’s not rocket science.” She left off the implied ‘even you should know that’, but the disdain in her voice made it clear.

Eiling looked at her hard. “ How much is ‘more’?” 

Caitlin glanced at Barry, breathing shallowly. “About ten thousand calories a day.” She didn’t add that at first, he’d been eating close to ten times that as his powers stabilized.“Closer to 20,000 if he’s running a lot, but he forgets sometimes. Please, if he doesn’t get something, he could go into a coma, or have a seizure.” Neither of those would be instantly fatal, but they wouldn’t be good.

Eiling studied the still form for a moment, then looked at  the uniformed man beside him. “Get our guest set up with an IV until he wakes up. We’ll see about more after that, pending cooperation.”

Caitlin sighed in relief, and Eiling reached out and grabbed her arm, squeezing tight enough that she yelped, trying to pull away.  
“If you’ve lied to me, you will regret it.” He thrust her back at her escort. “Take her back to her cell. If Flash wakes up within the hour, she and the engineer get a meal. Let’s hope you were telling the truth, Snow, or the Flash won’t be the only one going hungry.”

* * *

 

Barry woke, body aching, though not as badly as he’d expected. Trying to work the crick out of his neck from again being restrained in a chair--he missed his bed, even Joe’s uncomfortable couch, he tried to take in his surroundings. Another room, not the same one as before, with ugly blue-black speckled linoleum instead of cement for flooring. No observation window this time, which Barry was glad of. Bad enough he was captured, he hated the idea they were watching him, like an exotic animal at a zoo. It wasn’t too brightly lit, but the light still made him squint at first. 

  
He’d passed out. He was well acquainted with the feeling, and unless it had been a long time, his head should still ache, but it didn’t, not the way his stomach did. But that wasn’t quite right, either. He was hungry, but not the same way he knew he should have been. An IV stand, with a dozen empty bags, stood to one side, and everything blinked into clarity. Somehow they’d known about his metabolism. He hoped they hadn’t hurt Caitlin to figure that out, but he was grateful. He felt stronger, by far. Even barefoot, even not knowing where he was, this was good.  

From the dimple of blood at his elbow, he guessed they’d only unhooked the IV a few minutes ago, probably going to get more of whatever they’d been giving him--he didn’t feel much different than after what Caitlin would give him at STAR Labs when he slacked off on eating and passed out. Another if not outright positive, at least better than negative sign.  _ Hang on, guys. Just a little longer.  I’m coming.  _

There wouldn’t be much time. Carefully, he tested the restraints at his wrists, bound to the arms of the chair. He could have laughed. These were not the sturdy cuffs Eiling had had him in earlier, solid metal. They seemed more like an afterthought, flimsy and malleable, no more than a paper-thin layer of mesh. Eiling and his goons had underestimated them all.  Barry looked towards the door, took in a deep breath, and started to vibrate. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, another cliffhanger :) We're really starting on the fun stuff soon, so comment and stick around! See you all sometime in the next 10 days or so. Feel free to say hi on my tumblr, hedgiwithapen!


	13. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry, I had midterms. :/
> 
> warnings for this chapter: unwilling blood-draw, blood, mild body horror, violence, threats of starvation

  
Barry focused on the cool air around him, trying to match it. It was harder starting from a still, sitting position, and phazing through restrains wasn’t like going through a truck or a wall, but he didn’t exactly have a lot of options. As soon as he pushed against the restraints, he regretted it, pain shooting through his arms and he realised his mistake. The wire vibrating with him, and it wasn’t as fine a mesh as he’d assumed; instead of being nearly solid, each strand was separate enough to dig into his skin. 

No, not dig.  _ Cut.  _

Barry stopped, gasping to breath through the stinging pain in his wrists where the wire pressed into dozens of still shallow cuts. He’d managed not to scream, but he’d yelped. He doubted that his being awake had gone unnoticed. Knowing from experience that it wouldn’t take long for the cuts to heal, he pressed down as well as he could manage against the arms of the chairs, trying not to let the wire of the mesh scrape against the irritated skin. 

“So you’re the Flash,” a voice he recognized distantly said from the doorway. Barry twisted to look, and the mesh bit into the cuts again. Keeping that cry of pain down was no easier the first. The man came closer, another IV bag in hand, but he did not make any move to set it up. “Five IV bags and just shy of an hour.  Dr. Snow’s calculations were correct after all.”

“Caitlin?” Barry demanded, still trying to place the man’s voice. The memory it belonged to didn’t fit with this brightly lit place, the white lab coat he wore. “What did you do to her, where is she? Where’s Cisco?”

“As if I know,” the man shook his head. “Or care. You and Firestorm are all I’m interested in, not a pair of disgraced scientists the General only needs for leverage.”

Barry flinched back as he approached, hampered by the restraints and the solid chair. “Firestorm?” _No. They’ll kill them. they’ll--That’s our last_ hope _, Ronnie and Martin, they can’t be caught, too._  
“What, you thought you were our only little lab rat?” the man scoffed. 

That phrase jarred something loose in Barry’s mind, a frightened, angry woman with stubborn eyes and red hair, a dark room, a green laser sight and the shattering of glass.

“You,” Barry said, his right wrist brushing against the wire and burning as the doctor turned his arm to get to the veins in the crook of his elbow better. “You’re him, the one who--Bette. You tortured Bette San Souci.”

Dr. Hadley let out an exaggerated sigh. “The sergeant. What  _ fascinating _ abilities. Such a shame the General had to put her down before we were able to finish, but at least she led us to you. I have the feeling you’ll be far more useful to our endeavors, won’t you, Mr. Allen?”

Barry had certainly gotten more used to having his blood drawn since Caitlin took over as his only doctor and he started going out and getting himself injured on a weekly basis, but she always gave him warning and something else to focus on. Hadley practically stabbed the needle in, and only his vinyl-gloved hands and the restraints prevented him from jerking away. He still tried, growling low in his throat. “She was a _person_.”  
“Don’t make this harder on yourself,” the man advised, “or your friends.”  
“Leave them alone,” Barry rasped. Despite the new energy from the IV bags, his throat was still dry.   
“That depends on how well you and Firestorm behave. After the stunt the General says you pulled with the treadmill, you should be grateful they’re still alive.”

Barry wanted to protest, but latched on instead to the fact that Cisco and Caitlin were at least alive.   
“I want to see them. All of my friends, I want to know they’re safe.”  
“And I want the secret behind your powers. We don’t always get what we want right away, Flash. The difference is, I know I’ll get what I want.” Doctor Hadley took the vials, the blood too red against the stark white of his coat and the surrounding room, and left, leaving the last IV bag limp on the counter, forgotten. 

Barry looked at the cuts on his arm, turning white under the blood as they scarred over and healed, and tried not to cry.

* * *

  
Ronnie tapped at the clear barrier between them again. Sound was still blocked, but as long as they watched, keeping their hands low, Stein had gotten across that they could manage a modified form of Morse code. Of course, Eiling would be watching, or one of his lackies would, but sitting in isolated silence was too much for both men. Ronnie wished bitterly that the Firestorm bond extended to telepathy.

Someone had brought what barely passed as a meal, though it was better than the scraps they’d filched from trash cans and restaurant dumpsters last winter. Or at least, there was more of it, which counted for something, even if it was only room temperature water that taste metallic and stale and and some tan goop that might have been mashed potatoes or might have been over cooked oatmeal. Either way, it was bland and, like the water, hovered around room temperature. He’d still scraped every bit of it off the plate with his fingers--god forbid someone give them plastic sporks.  

Martin tapped back, answering the question Ronnie had hoped to get across, C-A-I-T, with N-O-S-E-E and a sad shake of his head. Fear burned in the younger man’s gut, and his hands itched to do something. What if they’d hurt her, or killed her? They had Martin, they had him. It wouldn’t be long before Eiling decided to hurry up and finish what he’d started in March.  Before he could tap anything else, question or comfort or plan, both doors opened at once. Ronnie scrambled to his feet, but the door to the hallway--to freedom--was blocked, and the soldiers that had entered, two in each cell, had already taken hold of Martin. Ronnie swallowed hard. If they were being taken somewhere together, they might have a chance to merge. To find Caitlin and Cisco, to escape. Or…  _ this might be it. They’re going to kill us.  _

 

From the other end of the bond, he felt a faint attempt at warmth, mentally, as if Martin were trying to reassure him. Ronnie swallowed. They were held more than arm’s length apart all the way down the hall and into yet another new room, this one a severe contrast to the small cell. The ceiling was high, and the open feel of it was closer to the basketball courts at Hudson University than a hidden military base.  He shivered.

Eiling was already there, flanked by men Ronnie now recognized, and a woman he was certain he’d never seen before, but that the Professor had. A memory of pain sparked across the bond, and Ronnie winced. 

Eiling smirked, coming closer to inspect them one at a time. Ronnie pulled his lips back in a snarl, but Eiling just clicked his tongue and moved over to Martin. 

 

“I don’t often admit to being wrong,” the General said, and his voice echoed a little in the open space.

“Ah, but it suits you so well,” Martin said, and the hint of pride Ronnie felt was overwhelmed with concern as he felt the grip on the professor’s shoulders tighten.

Eiling ignored him. “You see, strictly speaking, I don’t need you alive. I can extract the Firestorm Matrix from your corpses. Your speedster friend may have assumed he stole all the data on the process, all your files back, but he was mistaken. So I have everything I need, technically. It seems your files weren’t as thorough as would be best, but since you were too shortsighted to conduct real testing, I suppose we’ll just have to do that for you.”

“What do you mean?” Martin demanded, again trying to bring the attention more fully on to himself. Perhaps he could still bargain Ronald’s freedom, and the others’s. He had been honest when he’d told this man before that he would die before he saw his work used for Eiling’s own twisted ends, but that was his own life, not  Ronald’s. Not Caitlin’s. 

The general nodded sharply, and the soldier at Martin’s left pulled a knife from his belt. Before anyone could react, not that either half of Firestorm could have done anything, he slashed through the thin material of Martin’s shirtsleeve. As Martin cried out, Ronnie jerked instinctively to cover the place on his own arm, failing to suppress his own short cry. When he looked up, he noticed Eiling’s eyes on him, not on Martin or the soldier who’d cut him.

“That’s what I mean,” he said. “There’s something that connects the two of you. The scars on your arms proved as much. I’m not about to send my men into combat without knowing the full extent of the bond the Firestorm Matrix provides. The benefits beyond flight as well as any possible....downsides.” The predatory grin was back. “I’m sure you of all people, Professor, understand  that we have to go about this scientifically.”

“You won’t get away with this,” Ronnie snarled, face flushed as he understood what Eiling meant. He knew Stein understood what Eiling intended for their fate.   
“I already have.” Eiling signaled the men holding them. “Take Mr. Raymond below. See how long it takes for the Professor to feel the chill--or the other way around, I suppose. I’d cooperate, if I were you, meta, unless you want your pretty fiance to pay the price.”

“You’re a monster,” Ronnie hissed, too afraid for Caitlin to resist as his captors started dragging him towards a side door.  
“And you’re a metahuman,” Eiling responded lightly. “And now, you’re _mine._ ” 

 

* * *

 

 

“You need to eat,” Cisco pressed as Caitlin held the remaining half of the granola bar she’d been given, hunger gnawing at her stomach like the hamster her high school biology teacher had kept in the classroom, chewing on the cage bars and wooden blocks. She did, knowing she should probably save it for later, just in case it took a while to be rescued or find a way to escape, but immediate hunger won out.

“How’s your head?” she asked. He shrugged.

“Not so bad.” It was a lie, and they both knew it, but she’d done the best she could, and the food and water had helped. “Do you think Barry’s alright?”

Caitlin nodded, shifting her position on the cold ground. “They said we’d only get a meal if he woke up, and they did give us these--”

“This isn’t even a snack,” Cisco protested. “They could have given us some red vines at least. Even the generic brand ones.”

Caitlin swallowed the laugh, remembering the time Barry had brought Cisco a jumbo pack of generic red licorice and he’d pouted for three days straight because “they’re not the same, Barry, you absolute philistine.” 

“It’s all we’ve got,” she said instead. “But they brought them. That means Barry woke up. It must. He has to be ok. Ronnie and Stein, two, or they wouldn’t bother keeping us.”

Cisco nodded, scooting closer. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Caitlin said, a little more sharply than intended. She was tired and hungry and cold, and it showed.

“If I’d been more careful, though. If I hadn’t gotten caught, they wouldn’t have gotten Ronnie. We’d have found you before that. And they wouldn’t have Barry.”

Caitlin dropped the wrapper from her granola bar, then tucked it into a pocket. She doubted it would be of any use, but that was no reason to just leave it. She took Cisco’s hand, grateful that at least they weren’t chained. He smiled, squeezing back and leaning against her a little. 

“We could make a run for it,” he said, softly. “The next time one of them comes in. Use the first aid kit as a weapon…You saw where they had Barry. You could get to him…”

Caitlin swallowed. She memorized the path from this cell to where they’d taken her, the observation room with the treadmill and Barry, as best she could, but they might have moved him. Could they afford to wait for a rescue? Could they afford to risk another escape?

“We can’t just wait for them to kill us,” Cisco pointed out softly, giving voice to her own fears. 

Minutely, she nodded. The first aid kit was plastic, not heavy and solid, but it was what they had.

 

They waited, edgy and nervous, rationing what remained of the water after Caitlin had used a third of it tending to Cisco’s wounds. Cisco’s throat still felt terrible and dry, but the ache in his head had lessened, and his ribs felt--well, not better, but not worse. He used the wall to help him stand, making sure he could walk. He wasn’t sure about running, but walking he could handle, and when it came down to it...Adrenaline was a hell of a drug, wasn’t it?  _ Think positive. Think positive.  _

When the door did open, it wasn’t one of the lower ranking grunts they’d expected. Cisco shot to his feet and regretted it. Caitlin stood to support him, glaring at Eiling.

“What do you want now?” she asked.

“I’m not here for you, Doctor,” Eiling told her. “Ramon. We have need of your expertise.”

Cisco clenched his fists, but stepped forward. “Fine. My hourly freelancing fee is let us all go, plus expenses. And I’ll need my lawyer to go over the contract.”

“Nice try,” Eiling shook his head. “Counteroffer. You do what I want, your friend gets to see her fiance when you finish, and I don’t just kill you.”

Cisco didn’t dare look at Caitlin. His eyes drifted to the door. He couldn’t see the guards, and Eiling stood there alone...and Cisco was sure he was bluffing. He couldn’t kill them, not yet, anyway. Eiling stared down at him, and Cisco trembled with anger more than fear. How dare this creep threaten Ronnie, threaten Caitlin, threaten any of his family? 

Cisco had always been small for his age, and young for his classes. Add to that his love of science and math and figuring out how the world worked, and he’d developed far more than a sense of humor and thick skin. 

Like, for example, a strong left hook. 

Eiling staggered with the crack as Cisco’s punch connected with his nose. It wasn’t much, but Cisco hadn’t expected to knock him out, or even down. Hoped, yes, expected, no. He and Caitlin made it three steps into the hallway before being surrounded by the soldiers who had been waiting just out of the line of sight. Cisco’s triumph died.

“If that’s how you want to play this, brat,” the general said thickly, sopping up the blood still pouring from his nose, “fine. You build me a treadmill that can fully test the Flash’s speed, or you’re both useless to me. And if he’s useless, I won’t waste resources on him. With that metabolism, do you think he’ll starve before he dies of thirst?  I’m sure we can learn plenty from his corpse.” Eiling grinned at their stunned silence, feral with his nose and mouth stained with blood. “Put the good doctor back in her room. Let the brat watch his friend die.”

“No!” Cisco burst out, desperation squeezing his lungs as much as his bruised ribs. “I’ll do it, I’ll build whatever you want.” he sagged in the harsh grip of the soldiers. “Please, I’ll do it.”

“That’s more like it. Next time, I won’t give you a second chance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make the world a better place and feed the writer :)


	14. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE!
> 
> I cannot fucking timeline shit so when does all this happen? Mostly either directly following last chapter but the section with cisco time skips forward a day or so. This is part of why it’s taken me a damn year to write this. If you’re confused...so am I. I will attempt to make, like. An actual calendar and post the link or something.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: threats, temperature /environment related torture, brief mention of fear of being gassed that does not happen, starvation.

 

 

With every hour that passed, Joe grew more anxious, and he knew he wasn’t the only one. Eddie had called Signh right away, though they’d had to keep the details vague. Tracking Barry’s phone, like the others, had brought them no leads. While they still offered to Singh the possibility of Barry simply going off on a lead, they knew better. It had been over a day. Barry had been taken, too, there was no other explanation for the lack of contact. Whoever had taken him had disabled the tracking on it, as well as the beacon in his suit. Security cameras at STAR had turned up nothing, but they were not the most reliable, in any event. 

That the suit was gone did offer one clue: whoever had taken Barry had taken him as the Flash, which mean that the others had almost certainly been taken in connection to that. The lists of suspects dwindled quickly: very few of the Flash’s enemies were still loose, but there were enough, and enough who might feel threatened. The Snarts and Rory, all of whom knew his identity and connection to Cisco and Caitlin. Bivolo, who had to know Caitlin and Cisco from his time in the creepy-basement prison. Mark Mardon--Barry’d stopped him from destroying the city, and he had also almost certainly seen their faces. 

Joe frowned at the list he was making. Mardon would have come after him, after Iris and Barry as his foster son, not the Flash...but maybe that priority had changed. Still, that Iris hadn’t been targeted made Joe doubt that this was Mardon. There had to be more. There were too many. How many criminals had Barry caught, not just those with powers, but beyond? How many had lost someone or something to Star Labs? There was no telling if this was an old enemy at all, or if it was someone new, finally emerging. Joe hated the thought, and the helplessness that came with it. Worse, though he hadn’t said as much to Iris or Eddie, there was the gnawing fear that if Caitlin and Cisco had only been taken as bait or in revenge for something that had been caused by Star Labs, they might already be dead. 

“Anything?” Iris asked, coming over to the desk with a cardboard container of coffee cups, handing one off to Joe and putting the other in front of Eddie, slumped over a stack of files. Joe had decided to let him sleep for a few minutes.

“Does that mean you didn’t find anything either?” he asked, shaking his head and reaching for the coffee, scalding his mouth on it. 

“I’ve been going through everything people’ve sent the blog. No sign of any of the metas that got away. The commetors have been quiet too. Usually after something with the Flash I get, you know, the crazies, going off about the Flash being an alien or a criminal who deserves to die or--whatever bullshit, but there hasn’t been anything more than the usual….I’d ask Felicity or--or Cisco to run the IPs anyway, but…”

“Give them to, uh--” Joe  shook his head, squinting. “What’s her name, in charge of tech, officer…” a yawn tried to wrack his body, he suppressed it. “You know her. Franson?”

Iris  chewed her lip. “ did you sleep? I didn’t.”  
“No,“ Joe  held the coffee like it was a life line. “But I’m fine. Give officer Franson the IPs. I’ve ….I reported Barry missing, and we’ve got Cisco’s case file to connect them too…”  
“And Caitlin’s,” Eddie said, over the edge of the coffee cup. “Called in favors, connected it to Cisco….they still think she jumped but said something like ‘have fun with the paperwork’ so…” he stopped. “How long was I asleep?”

“Not long,” Joe lied. It had been two hours, but God knew at least one of them should rest.

“You could have woke me. Woken? Whatever. Wait, you found something?”   
“I don’t think so, but …” Iris sighed. “Maybe? I don’t know. Just a couple of the more… angry voices on the internet about Star Labs and the Flash. You know, the “ why didn’t the flash save my house from burning down” and “ star labs is secretly still running and poisoning the water supply to take over all our brains wake up sheeple” bull.” 

Eddie made a noise and went back to his stack of files. “Reports of robberies fitting Snart’s MO.” he said. “They think he’s in Opal city right now, but he might have been in Keystone last week…”

“Just let me know, ok?” Iris said, worrying the thin gold chain around her neck. “ I mean it. As soon as you have anything. I have to get back to work, I’m going to tell the reporters to keep ears open for anything involving--well, STAR Labs. I guess advertising that the Flash is…isn’t here….” she trailed off. “We’re going to find him,” she said, firmly. “We’re going to find all of them.”

Joe knew her tone, too well. It was the voice she used when she had to convince herself as much as anyone she was speaking to.

“West! Thawne!” Singh shouted from across the bullpen. “My office, now.”

Joe hoped it wasn’t more bad news, but knew that wasn’t something to be counted on.

 

~~

Ronnie shivered. They’d dragged him to a small cell down two flights of stairs and through a maze of narrow hallways. He hadn’t been sure what to expect, but they’d taken his shirt and cuffed his hands behind him to a bar on the far wall. He could see the door, the mirror that had to be hiding a window, a grate in the tile floor. All of it unnerved him. 

One of the soldiers had peered at his bare shoulder, where a thin red mark betrayed the Firestorm bond, and taken a picture of it. Ronnie had tried to kick him and had his ankles cuffed for his trouble. That was when the vents above him had kicked into gear, and he’d nearly jumped out of his skin. They wouldn’t poison him with their own soldiers in here, would they?  The cold air hit, and he relaxed only slightly.  No, Eiling had  _ just  _ said they weren’t going to be killed--yet. Still, this couldn’t be anything good. 

Someone--not a soldier, someone in a white coat-- came in, leaving the door open for a few long seconds like a taunt. She pushed a rolling table with a computer and coils of wires and set about connecting them, sticking them to his skin at his neck, his wrists behind him, in an armpit. He tried to pull away, and she produced a radio. “Stay still, Firestorm. Didn’t the General tell you what happens if you misbehave?”

Ronnie could feel the vein pulsing in his temple as she stuck another wire over it and a scattering across his chest, but he didn’t move, only glared.

“That’s more like it,” she huffed, moving to the computer and attaching another wire to the back of her own neck and sliding a second up her sleeve. She ignored the questioning look he sent her, typed something else in, and raised the radio to her lips. “All set. What about your end?”

A tinny voice crackled over the radio, “Ready.” In the background, Ronnie could hear Martin’s voice, but he couldn’t make out the individual words. It sounded like another language, but it was too hard to make out exactly, even if Ronnie had understood more than a dozen words in Yiddish.

The cold air intensified, until Ronnie could see his own breath in white wisps, hanging in front of him. The chill stung his lungs and nose, but he grit his teeth, unwilling to give the observers the satisfaction. Strangely, he didn’t feel terribly cold, not exactly, not at first, but maybe that was just because he was trying to focus on anything other than the wires on his bare skin, the watchful eye of the doctor. He could feel Martin-- distant, but not too far away, worried and confused, but not hurt. Not in pain. That was something, at least. 

The woman--squinting, Ronnie thought he could make out part of a name embroidered on her jacket, Dr. Alci-something--typed something into the computer, nodding to herself.

“What--what’s going on?” Ronnie demanded as much as asked. He could see the woman’s gloved hands trembling, her own breath spilling from her mouth and nostrils like smoke. “What are you doing?”

Like before, she ignored him, detatching the wires from her own skin, typing a few more things into the computer before she turned to the door and left without another word. The door clunked shut behind her. Ronnie waited. Was whatever test this was over?

No one came to free him, or remove the wires. The room drew steadily colder.

His fingers and toes did not go numb, but they ached fiercely, the pain like a heartbeat. Drawing air into his lungs burned, and he longed to cover  his nose, his ears. He could hear a noise, a steady clattering, and realized it was the wrist shackles moving against each other and the bar as he shivered. He tried to order his body to stop, to not show his captors how cold he was--god he was freezing-- but his hands no longer seemed like parts of his body.  

He closed his eyes, trying to reach for the flame that lay just out of reach inside him, but without the professor, that warmth was sealed off.  Martin was not, he could feel the older man’s panic, wordless desperation.He held on. This was what they had done to Martin, back in March, the cold room. It had not broken Martin. It would not break him. 

Time crawled by, he wasn’t sure how long Eiling’s people stood behind the mirrored glass watching him before the air above him clicked off, and the only sound was his own ragged breathing and the rattle of his cuffs.

The woman did not come in, but three soldiers did after a few minutes, wearing heavy gloves. They left his legs cuffed as they hauled him out, through Ronnie knew anything more than standing was beyond his ability. His feet may as well have been lumps of stone.

One of them pulled the computer with its wires--tossed haphazardly onto the wheeled table rather than coiled neatly-- down the hall in one direction, but the sudden change in temperature was all he could focus on, the sudden warmth filling his hands, ears, and toes with a feeling like static, sharp and painful. Had the hallway been this hot when they’d put him in the cell? He was sure it hadn’t been, but somehow, he couldn’t care. It was so wonderful to be warm again.

 

~~

 

“Impressive,” Eiling said, watching Martin shudder as the professor was led back to his cell. “How low did you push it?”

“Raymond’s cell reached 27 degrees Farenheit before there was any change to his core body temperature,” Dr. Alcina reported, rubbing her fingers together. “23 degrees before there was a noticeable drop. According to the readings, the drops corresponded with the professor’s own, down to the second. We pushed it to 15 for a few minutes, but didn’t want to risk permanently damaging either asset.”

“Very good,” Eiling nodded. “Of course, only one test…”  
The doctor scowled. “I didn’t graduate yesterday. I’m not an idiot, General. With our approval, we’ll continue testing the bond with temperature, and conditions. Dry heat, damp cold…”

“Excellent. You’re dismissed, then. Keep me apprised.”  
“Of course, General Eiling, Sir.”

 

~~

Joe didn’t recognize the woman sitting primly in front of Captain Singh’s desk.  
“Captain?” he asked, as Eddie came up to stand behind him.

The woman didn’t wait to be introduced or an explanation to be offered. “I can’t believe you idiots think my daughter would kill herself over some man.”

“Mrs. Snow,” Joe guessed, wondering who had called her when he’d hoped to keep things under wraps a little longer. Caitlin rarely spoke of her mother, and never with any warmth.

“Doctor,” she corrected cooly. “Doctor Tannhauser. Someone from Piedmont called this morning, said you took over the case--that there was a case at all. Why wasn’t I informed?”  
“We’re still investigating,” Eddie said, wincing as Joe gave him a Look.  
“ And you aren’t listed as next of kin,” Joe said. “When we have answers, we’ll let you know, but for now--”  
“What do you mean I’m not listed? She doesn’t have any other family.”  
“Be that as it may, Ma’am--Doctor--, it’s out of our hands.”

She huffed. “I raised my daughter better than this, she wouldn’t ruin her life over a dead man, she’s not stupid.”

Joe fought the urge to glare. “As my partner said, we are still investigating. We haven’t recovered---anything else from the crime scene. I know this must be hard for you--”

“You can’t possibly imagine. Who did this? Someone from that dead-end job she was wasting her potential at?”

“We don’t know.” Captain Singh said. “ Once again, Dr. Tannhauser, you aren’t her emergency contact or her next of kin. We can only give you information available to the public, and right now there isn’t any. My officers will let you know if that changes, but for now, allow them to do their work.”

“I’m her mother. I’m all the family she has. What aren’t you telling me?”  
“As soon as we have something, we’ll let you know,” Joe repeated.  The more people who knew that Ronnie wasn’t dead, that the note had been faked, the more risk there was. If Caitlin was still alive, the last thing she needed was her mother making a scene.

“Eddie, why don’t you take Dr. Tannhauser’s statement. Maybe the last time you and Dr. Snow spoke, she mentioned something, or …” Joe trailed off. 

Eddie nodded, “This way, Ma’am. Any information would be appreciated.”

The two of them left for a meeting room, and David looked at Joe. 

“Have you found anything?”

“ No, but…. She may be right. There’s a connection to Star somehow. The lab, or…. You know that Snow and Ramon work with the Flash…..”  
Captain Singh sighed, heavily. “ Unofficially, yes. Officially… I do now. You think this has to do with him?”

“It could be. Barry’s… helped him, too.”

“Of course he has. Alright. Follow any leads. How many officers do you want on this? I can spare--”  
“Just us, for now. Let us dig a little deeper.”  
“West, Allen’s one of ours, and that’s two civilians. I’m not risking lives so you and Thawne can--” he stopped. “ no. that was uncalled for. I know you wouldn’t insist on keeping this small if it wasn’t important. But whatever you need, just ask. Every resource is available.”  
“ Thank you, Captain. I have to go. I need to see if any of the Flash’s allies…”  
“Go.”

 

At his desk, Joe tried again to reach Oliver or Felicity with no luck, and there was no response from the rest of the Starling--Star--city vigilantes. Joe cursed softly, and started searching through his files again. There had to be something, someone,  they were missing.

 

~~ 

The first time Cisco built a treadmill capable of living up to Barry’s superspeed, it had taken him a week, and that was under much better conditions. Even without his laptop full of blueprints and schematics, Cisco thought he could rig something up sooner. He hoped. If Eiling meant it about not giving Barry food or water until it was done….the average human might last a couple days without water, longer without food, but Cisco had listened to enough of Caitlin’s tirades at Barry when he got caught up in running and didn’t drink enough water or eat at least three calorie bars along with his meals. One thing was certain, he didn’t have a week. He’d been working for hours, locked in a room with the remains of a busted treadmill. 

Briefly, he’d considered using the tools they gave him to rig up a weapon of some kind. But with what he had, the best he could manage would be some kind of taser, and with two guards in the room with him, more out in the hall and his ankles cuffed, by the time he freed himself, someone would sound an alarm. Then Eiling would hurt Barry, or Caitlin, or Ronnie, or worse than just hurt them. 

He fumbled the screwdriver he held in shaking hands, and bent to pick it up. There wasn’t time to be tired. There wasn’t time to be hungry. He could do this. Just like late nights working in the accelerator, except instead of Ronnie bringing pizza, or Hartley whining about delays and cute guys,  it was armed guards who might shoot him if he asked for another bathroom break. His Tax Dollars at Work.  _ no don’t think about them don’t think about Eiling just think about the work. It’s for Barry. Treadmill, super good treadmill, Supersonic Treadmill, no, that’s a shitty name, that’s what Cait would call it. He said if I finish this Caitlin can see Ronnie. We need to talk if we’re gonna get out of this, and Barry has to be ok, so--finish.  Just keep working. _

A headache built in his head and his fingers cramped, but Cisco ignored them as best he could, connecting wires, trying not to flinch when the guards drew closer when he picked up a small soldering iron. “I’m just doing what your boss wanted,” he’d ground out, and thankfully they’d backed off. 

For Barry, for Caitlin, he could do this. He could play along until they could get out, or until Joe and Eddie came.  

Cisco put a panel in place, careful not to force it, and thought a quick prayer. It wasn’t the prettiest piece of exercise equipment in the universe, and probably not even in the top 500, though he hadn’t exactly spent a ton of time in gyms or fitness stores since ever, but it should work, and that was what mattered. 

He  tried to squeeze the aching cramps from his fingers as he put the screwdriver on the workbench, fingers ghosting over short screws and wire cutters before he reached up, thought a prayer, and turned the machine on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please love me. I'm sorry it took so long. comments are appeciated

**Author's Note:**

> Comments make the world go round. Welcome aboard the pain train, I hope you enjoy the ride.


End file.
